Destiny Undone
by Jimperbam
Summary: When you wish upon a star...well, this time it lands you smack dab in the middle of the Shire. You should have been careful what you wished for, because it came true, and now you are in for one serious adventure. (Reader narration, slow burn Thorin/reader)
1. Prologue: Star Light, Star Bright

ALRIGHT FRIENDS, GATHER 'ROUND FOR AN EPIC TALE IN THE MAKING! HAVE YOU-YES, YOU RIGHT THERE-EVER WANTED TO JUMP RIGHT INTO A MOVIE AND STOP SOME STUPID SHIT FROM HAPPENING? WELL NOW YOU CAN! Kind of, at least. Your insatiable Tolkien thirst coupled with some very generous stars has set you up for the adventure(s) of a lifetime.

On a scale from 1-10, how proud of myself do you think I am? xD

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own yourself!

* * *

You open your window and carefully step out onto the roof, feeling proudly elf-like when you don't immediately slip on the shingles. You attribute this steadiness to your cosplay that is finally completed after weeks of meticulous work. If only you had someone to stand on the ground and take a picture of you, then you could Photoshop some trees in place of the angular roof and edit in some more Tauriel-like hair...

But it's one in the morning, and all of your friends as well as your family are asleep, so you get as comfortable as possible on the rough surface to do some star gazing. It's a warm, clear August night, and you'd seen somewhere that there was supposed to be a meteor shower. You didn't know if you were within range to see anything, but that was fine. You'd always enjoyed the night sky whether it moved or not.

You quickly lost yourself in excited daydreaming about the upcoming convention. It was the first year you'd really been able to _make_ a costume. You couldn't wait to find all the other Tolkien cosplayers and get some sweet, sweet photo ops.

Something streaked across the velvety black sky. You blinked and grinned at the tail end of the shooting star. One by one other "stars" zoomed around in the infinite expanse of space. You couldn't help a delighted giggle. The show was breathtaking. You imagined the real Tauriel would love it just as much as you did.

"Wow, I'm behind on my wishes!" you realize. Did wishing on a falling star count during a meteor shower when there were so many chances? You decided to harness the desire-fulfilling power of all the stars for one giant wish. "Okay, my wish is to go to Middle Earth and have a few adventures, because regular earth is getting hella boring."

You hold out your arms to the sky like suddenly Eärendil itself would zap you through the fabric of reality to the rolling green hills of the Shire. No such thing happens, obviously, and it's not that you're _disappointed_, but it would have been really awesome if the laws of the universe could make just one exception. It would have been a great way to get into character for the con, after all.

You watch the skies until the meteor shower slows to a meteor trickle, at which point you realize the balmy night has turned a bit chilly. You stretch and rise to head inside, intending on putting on pajamas and popping in An Unexpected Journey.

Your fingers just touch the window when your dainty boot slips on a shingle. You shriek as you lose your balance and go down hard on one knee. The abrupt shift in your weight coupled with the angle of the roof causes you to topple onto your side and begin the downward roll. The only thing you think as you feel the roof disappear from under you is how pissed you'll be if this fall tears your cosplay.

You land hard on your back. It knocks the wind out of you and sends the shock radiating to every extremity. A light pops up in front of your eyes. You grunt in pain, but at least you landed in the lawn instead of on the driveway. You lie there to catch your breath before you open your eyes and squint past the dazing light. And you continue to squint, because said light is not a figment of your jumbled brain, but is in fact the sun blazing overhead.

You're horrified to think that the fall knocked you out all night. Had your parents woken? Had they seen you yet, or did they assume you were safely in your room? Had anyone walked by and noticed you passed out in the yard? You find that you can still move all your limbs, so you quickly rise to return inside before anyone could bear witness to the most embarrassing night of your life.

Your head spinning, you look around for your house. You don't see it. In fact, you don't see the car, the mailbox, or any of the houses in your neighborhood. What you do see is thick, rich green grass covering luxuriously rolling hills. There's a fence nearby enclosing a beautiful garden. Sunny daffodils frame a large round door set right into one of the hills.

You drop back to your knees and grip your head. Your breathing comes out in gasps. You are now very aware that the fall left you with a measure of brain damage, because nowhere in the world did people _actually_ have large round doors with gleaming knobs in the middle that led into an underground house.

You peek up. The round door is still there, and now you can see it has neighbors. Smoke rises from tin chimneys protruding from the ground like strange plants. There's laughter in the distance along with the quiet rush of a river.

You rationalize in a shaking voice, "I'm still asleep. I'm still asleep. I _have_ to still be asleep. So that means I can fly!"

You jump all of six inches into the air before gravity heavily damages that hypothesis.

You move down the cobblestone road in a trance. There is only disbelief in your throbbing head as you take in more and more of the village that you knew well despite never having been there. And since you knew the village well, you are more than able to navigate right to the most important burrow in the land. A cheerful green door with a polished brass knob is all that stands between your tenuous theory of a dream and an epic meltdown. You knock with numb fingers.

The seconds tick past like days. Finally the door opens and a small man with curly locks on his head and equally curly ones on his large feet stands before you. You swallow hard and attempt to speak before your overloaded brain completely shuts down.

You wake up in a soft bed and are relieved before you even open your eyes. It _was_ just a dream. It was a terrifyingly realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless. A cool washcloth touches your forehead, making you jump slightly before you smile. Your poor mother is probably just waiting to let you have it. To stave her off, you mumble a very heartfelt, "Thanks."

"Oh, you're awake!"

Your eyes fly open. That was not your mother's voice and that is not your mother's face gazing at you with concern and curiosity. You let out a squeak of disbelieving distress.

"It's alright, I won't hurt you!" he continues. "You fell down right at my door, so I moved you inside. I'm very glad you're not hurt-"

You scream. It's not the most logical thing, but it's the only sound that will come out of your mouth. Your attendant hastily and unsuccessfully tries to calm you and is left standing helplessly until you quiet.

"It's not real!" you shout at him like _he_ was the one imposing this impossible yet distantly wonderful reality upon you. "It is _not real_!"

He stares at you, at a loss.

"It isn't real, is it?" You knock on the wooden walls. The wood does not give way and instead causes your knuckles to smart with the impact. "Is it? I'm actually in the Shire?"

"Yes!" he exclaims, relieved that you are now making some sort of sense. "Yes, you are in the Shire. You're in Bag End, my home, and I'm Bilbo Baggins, very much at your service!"

"Bilbo Baggins," you repeat faintly. "_Bilbo Baggins_. It is real. Oh my _god_."

"You certainly are welcome to stay here until you get well, but perhaps there are some elves nearby you'd like to send a message to?"

"Elves? Why?"

"I-I assume they'd worry, especially if you've wandered off while so ill..."

"Why would _elves_ worry about me?" You find the notion somewhat amusing.

"Well, I just assumed by your-pardon me, I hope I did not offend-"

Your clasp your ears. There's an extra point at their tips you are not used to. You press a hand over your mouth to prevent another outburst that would probably frighten poor Bilbo further. You can't help but whisper, "I'm an elf."

"Goodness," Bilbo murmurs. "Perhaps you should lie back down."

You sink back into the pillows, breathless from the impossible revelation. Bilbo hesitantly dabs at your forehead again. All is silent as you attempt to gather your thoughts. At last you sigh in a much more even voice, "Thank you, Bilbo Baggins. I'm glad you of all people found me."

"I'm very glad someone found you at all!"

"Yes, I imagine I'd've made quite a scene, blundering through Hobbiton and carrying on like I was..."

We shared a laugh. You gulp down yet another scream when you realized you'd just _laughed with Bilbo Baggins_. You'd really have to rein in your reaction if you were to pass as any sort of normal.

"Do you have a name I can call you?" Bilbo asks.

"My name?" The question sends you into a frenzy. Your plain, normal earth name would not pass for elvish! Your tongue tripped silently over strings of consonants and vowels. If only you had a computer, then you could just generate a random one! "I-I'm...Aniel?" It's the best combination of sounds you can muster off the top of your head. If only you had time to think! But the word was already out of your mouth, so it was set in stone.

"Well, Lady Aniel, do you feel well enough to drink something? I can make you some tea."

"Yes!" you exclaim a little too forcefully. "I mean, yes, I am well. I mean-I _mean_ that I'm sorry for acting so bizarrely. And for screaming. And for, uh, passing out on your doorstep. There's no way I could even begin to explain why all of that happened, but I'm not sick, and I would love some tea. Can I get up?"

Bilbo has no idea to deal with an elf woman who speaks acts like a child, so he simply nods. You slowly rise and slip into the boots your caretaker had so kindly removed. You follow Bilbo through the halls of Bag End and drink in every tiny detail. Everything is just like in the movies. The chandeliers, the pictures over the mantle, the various books scattered on the table, the kitchen-you bite back a dreamy sigh.

Once seated at the kitchen table-_at the actual table in Bag End!_-you watch Bilbo's every move like a hawk. He seems a tad uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but you can't help but stare. Making tea may be a daily routine for him, but for you, it's something you would pay a kidney to have a ticket to see. He sets out some biscuits when the tea is served. You immediately take a drink and burn your tongue, but the fact that you burnt your tongue on tea made by Bilbo Baggins makes you smile anyway.

"So..." Bilbo clears his throat, unsure of what to say. "Where are you from?"

It's yet another innocuous question that puts you on high alert. You struggle to recall the layout of Middle Earth. "From the forests of the West," you reply. It's a perfectly vague answer; Rivendell, Mirkwood, and Lorien are all west of the Shire, assuming you remembered correctly.

"So far! And what brings you to the Shire and my front door?"

Your mouth opens, but this time no clever lie comes out. There was still a part of you that refused to believe you were actually in Middle Earth, so you had no idea what brought you to the Shire.

"Stars," you whisper.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I-the stars! I was following the stars! Walking's a bit of a habit of mine, you see, and I got a bit carried away..." Except you didn't like walking-you wouldn't walk to the Seven-Eleven down the block if you could drive to it. It was just a jumble of conveniently coherent words to cover up your monumental epiphany.

"Yes, it is easy to lose your feet on the road! I've taken plenty of walking holidays myself..."

You try to listen to Bilbo's anecdotes-when would you ever get another chance to do so?-but you can't help but focus on how your last lie wasn't really a lie at all. It was impossible to think, though no more impossible than what you were currently doing, but there was no other explanation. The stars *had* brought you here: the hundreds of them that you had asked for exactly this.

Your chest constricts slightly when you remember that there had been two parts to your wish. The first part, to come to Middle Earth, was fulfilled. Now the stars owed you an adventure.


	2. A Completely Expected Journey

Bros, I am riding this train 'til it goes off the tracks. I hope you like the newest installment! Also, I do apologize for any changes in tense. I am nowhere near used to writing in second person or present tense, but I'm doing my best to keep everything in line.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Bilbo is very kind to you, cooking you meals and giving you a guest bedroom to stay in. You couldn't be more grateful; the last thing you want at the moment is to face the Wild alone. You try to repay the hospitality by doing the dishes and listening raptly to his conversation, though the last bit is no trouble.

After breakfast the next day, Bilbo suggests the two of you go outside to get some air. You are all for it, of course. He grabs his pipe and heads out the door while you finish the dishes. Even such a mundane chore has you captivated with its context. You marvel for the millionth as you scrub the plates that you're actually here, actually in Middle Earth, actually in Bag End...

You make short work of the dishes and head outside. You stop at the window for a quick moment of reflection. Bilbo is seated comfortably on his bench outside, blowing masterful smoke rings into the bright blue sky. You smile slightly at the oddly familiar scene. And it is familiar for a reason: suddenly, one of the smoke rings morphs into a butterfly and flies back into Bilbo's face.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when you register the tall man in the grey cloak and pointed hat. You slide down the door as you relive the movies you've watched a hundred times at top speed. For all that you've swallowed in the past twenty-four hours, you simply can't wrap your head around the fact that you arrived the day before Gandalf came to drag Bilbo into the blue.

You mouth along with their conversation and don't startle when Bilbo storms through the door. He's aggravated until he notices you slumped in the floor. "Oh dear-!"

"I'm fine," you say quickly. "I'm fine-I-was that Gandalf?"

"Yes, it was-how did you know? Are you a friend of his?"

"I...well, I know of him, even if I've never met him. What did he want?"

Bilbo scowls. "A ridiculous proposal-_adventures_-but it's nothing."

You attempt to smile. Your heart is still racing. You take a seat in the parlor and stare out the window, trying to come to terms with the fact that this very evening you would be meeting Thorin Oakenshield.

You have of course watched the arrival enough times to know every line, every facial expression, every change in tone. You know every single thing that will happen in the next thirty months, thanks to having nothing better to do than feed your debilitating Tolkien addiction. Most of all, you know that the Dwarves arriving tonight will not take kindly to meeting you, an elf.

You bite your lip as the gravity of the situation sinks in. If you are truly on the very eve of the beginning of the quest for Erebor, you know that the culmination is grave. When you saw Battle of the Five Armies in theaters-on opening night, of course-you'd sobbed into your popcorn-scented napkin at the deaths on Ravenhill. You'd even taken the next day off of school for a day of mourning. That stubborn Dwarf-lord and his nephews that would soon walk through the door were fated to die, and this is unacceptable to you.

You whittle away the day making plans, rehearsing speeches, and steeling yourself for the impending evening. All the while you run your fingertips over your skin and the leather bracers on your forearms. It helps keep you grounded; it's very easy to forget that the decision you've made will have very real, very tangible consequences. You refuse to change your mind, however. You'd wished for an adventure. Now you have to go through with it.

"Lady Aniel, would you like some dinner?" Bilbo calls. You jump a mile and again your heart pounds.

"N-No, thank you," you return breathlessly. "I'm not all that hungry. I'd be glad to sit with you, though."

You sit at the kitchen table and watch Bilbo fry the fish for what he assumed would be a single dinner. You stop breathing when he takes it out of the pan, sets it on the plate, and settles in his own chair.

The doorbell tinkles quietly. It launches you into action. Bilbo's content expression hardly has time to flatten before you say briskly, "Don't let them know I'm here."

He blinks at you. "Excuse me? Them?"

"Yes, them. Don't tell them. When Gandalf comes, please send him to my room."

"I don't understand-"

"I know you don't, and honestly I'm really sorry for all I've put you through so far, but please trust me! Now go get the door!"

Bilbo scurries off. You start to run to your room, then pause. You can't bring yourself to miss out on the first introductions that you've seen so many times before. You dive into a hiding place with a view of the door just in time for Bilbo to open it.

It's Dwalin, obviously; he rumbles, "Dwalin, at your service," and bows.

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours," Bilbo responds bemusedly, tying up his housecoat. "Ah, do I know you?"

"No." Dwalin seems almost offended by the notion. He steps over the threshold. You've watched the same actions unfold before, but something about seeing them play out in real time makes you have to stifle a giggle.

The pair disappear deeper into the house. You tap your fingers on your arm until the bell rings again, at which point you eagerly peer out of your hiding place to see Balin. You hope that if all went well and you manage to talk your way into joining the company, you and Balin would come to good terms; his wealth of stories was something you wanted in on.

Bilbo is slightly less cordial this time around, whether due to confusion or your correct prediction of "them", it was unclear. Balin enters and greets his brother in the kitchen. You squirm impatiently during the exchange in the pantry; you refuse to return to your room until you see the next two guests.

The doorbell rings a third time. Bilbo, close to the end of his rope, opens it to reveal the two gorgeous heirs of Durin.

"Fili-"

"And Kili-"

"At your service!"

Had you been there to greet them, you would have welcomed them in and then some. But "Mr. Boggins" is less than thrilled at two more Dwarves joining the pair already raiding his pantry. Kili and Fili enter despite Bilbo's protests. Your heart flutters. They're even more perfect in person. But soon you remember your head and you sneak back to your room to await Gandalf.

You smooth your hair and clothes and improve your posture in an effort to appear as perfectly elvish as possible. Part of the act, you decide, is staring out at the stars, so you move to the cute round window. You count your rather uneven breaths until a quiet knock echoed through the door. "Come in," you near-whisper.

The Wizard himself enters. He doffs his hat out of respect. You can't help a small, awed smile; he would seem nothing more than a kindly pilgrim to those who knew no better. But you _do_ know better.

"M-Mithrandir," you say as steadily as possible with a slight incline of your head. "It is certainly my pleasure to meet you."

"I would have your name to share the pleasure," he responds courteously.

"Aniel," you sigh, already wishing you'd picked a better persona.

"And what business can I help you with? Bilbo was very firm when he relayed your request, though that might be because he's currently hosting several unexpected guests."

You take a deep breath. "I want to come with Thorin to retake Erebor."

Gandalf's busy eyebrows immediately contract. "How do you know of this?" he inquires. The edge to his voice makes you shiver. "We were very sure to tell no one of our intentions."

"I wasn't stalking anyone! It's just that I know things that will help, and I'm afraid if I don't come-" You trail off and bite your lip. The consequences of Thorin's death would be very real, because the world and people around you were very real. "If I thought I could just tell you what I know and it be enough, I would-trust me, I'm not looking forward to sleeping outside in the cold without a tent-but it _has_ to be me."

Gandalf's frown is even more pronounced. He says slowly, "If you know of Thorin Oakenshield, you know that neither he nor his kin are overly fond of elves."

"I'm aware," you sigh. "It's a hurdle and I'll just have to jump it. Will it be enough if I pledge my undying loyalty to him or something?"

"I doubt it. But do tell me, Lady Aniel, where your desire to accompany the Dwarves stems from, for it is most unusual for an elf to hold such a wish."

You obviously can't confess to Gandalf that you're basically in love with everyone in the kitchen and couldn't bear to see the tragedy at Ravenhill come to pass. That would be weird. So you phrase it a little more elegantly: "I want to come because what Thorin is doing is right, and to help him reclaim his homeland."

Now Gandalf raises his eyebrows at you. "Is it so simple?"

"Not in the bigger scheme of things, but for my motive, yes."

Gandalf _mmm_s and stares hard at you with his piercing, wise eyes. You hold his gaze and refuse to break it. You hope he can discern your bare honesty but not all the secrets you have swimming around in your head. "Well," he says finally, "if you will not be swayed, you will have to convince Thorin. And, if I am honest, me."

"I can do that," you say heavily. "At least, I hope. Even if he won't let me come, I'll follow anyway. It would just be nicer to travel with company."

You skulk in the halls while the wild dinner party winds down. You sing along with the cleanup tune to ease your nerves. You're well aware of how harsh and mistrustful Thorin can be in general, let alone towards elves.

You hide again when the doorbell rings for the last time. The door swings open, and there he is in all his glory. You swoon a bit just looking at him as you had so many times before. This time, however, there was no glass screen separating you from a bunch of really attractive Dwarves.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin remarks, earning laughs from his kin. Bilbo looks indignant. They move back into the kitchen and you return to waiting.

Instead of working up a moving speech, you daydream about galloping over the hills and surfing down the mounds of gold in the bowels of Erebor. You hardly notice when Gandalf says, "Now that that's settled, I must bring forth another matter that I'd like you to be open-minded about."

It's your cue! You jump up, quickly slip into character, and approach the gathering.

Shouts of outrage go up the moment the Dwarves register your clothing and ears. Some even reach for knives or ball their fists. You take a step towards the front door in case you need to make a break for it. This was already not going well.

"Open-minded!" Thorin hisses at Gandalf. "This had better be a joke!"

"No, just please wait a second!" you exclaim. They fall silent, shocked that you dared to speak. "It's not Gandalf's fault. He didn't know I was coming. I'm here to pledge allegiance to Thorin Oakenshield and aid in the reclaiming of Erebor!"

The silence deepens. Thorin rises and faces you. Though you're several heads taller than him, you gulp at his commanding and currently intimidating stature. "What use have I for the allegiance of an _elf_?" he snaps, putting particular venom in the last word. "I know how your people honor your oaths, and I have no time for treachery."

"I wouldn't!" you gasp. "I know you hate elves. You have every right to. Thranduil turned his back on Erebor when Smaug came. But I'm not like them, I swear!"

"Even if you do not come from the Woodland Realm, no other elves have proven trustworthy."

"How can I prove myself?"

"You cannot."

Your stomach flops at the dismissal. You blurt, "I know things!"

It sounded stupid even to you, so you're not quite insulted when the Dwarves laugh at you. Thorin's smirk is scornful. "You _know_ things? What kinds of things?"

His attitude lights your temper. You were able to admit that your favorite Dwarf could be a dick and a half, but you're unable to bear his snark in such a dire situation. You open your massive Tolkien trivia vault and let him have it. "I know that at the meeting in Ered Luin, Dain said he wouldn't join you. I know that Gandalf persuaded you to try for Erebor one night in Bree at the Prancing Pony. I know that Lady Dis gave Kili a rune stone before he left. I know all the names of your company and how they're related. I know the exact location of the door that matches the key Gandalf just gave you. That's just the beginning. Shall I continue?"

No one is laughing now. Kili is slightly flushed about the revelation of such a private detail. Thorin is no longer smirking, to your great pleasure, but is regarding you with shock and a measure of mistrust. You cross your arms triumphantly.

"And how came you by this knowledge?" Gandalf asks. You note his hand twitching towards his staff.

"Er...foresight? And...hindsight? I'm not evil, if that's what you're implying. Listen, all I want to do is use what I know to help you. There's no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. I don't even want a cut of the gold. I just want to help."

It takes a while for Thorin to speak. "I do not know how you came by such information, but..."

You put a hand on your hip, daring him to discount the value of your knowledge, especially regarding the way into Erebor. Thorin squints at you like he can read your thoughts. He shoots at you, "If you can tell the future, tell me when my cousin Frerin will arrive."

"Frerin's your brother, and he won't be coming because he died at Azalnubizar," you respond smartly.

"And if you know so much about our relations-"

You have the family trees memorized, of course! "Thorin, uncle to Fili and Kili: brothers. Dwalin and Balin: brothers and cousins to Oin and Gloin, also brothers. Ori, Dori, Nori: brothers. Bifur is cousin to Bofur and Bombur, who are brothers. I can get into fathers and sons, if you like."

Thorin is fuming but he cannot deny that you are right on every count. The table begins an intense conversation, obviously in Khuzdul so you can't understand. Language had always been your downfall; you knew only a few phrases of elvish, most of them gleaned from parroting during the films. But you don't need to be a master in the Dwarvish language to know that they're arguing. You hope at least someone is on your side.

Finally Thorin turns to you once more. Dislike shines in his blue eyes. "You are certain you know the way into Erebor?" he demands.

"Yes."

"Then I suppose we have no choice," he says bitterly.

Your heart skips a beat. "Really? I can go?"

"Against my better judgment."

You kneel in front of Thorin, almost in tears from the joy. "I will follow you, Thorin Oakenshield, even though you got lost twice on the way here."

Thorin is unmoved by your display. "Get up. I do not want your loyalty."

"You have it anyway."

Bofur pipes up, "Is someone going to do something about the hobbit?"

You notice then that Bilbo is and has been out cold on the rug in the hall.

When Bilbo comes to, he accepts a cup of tea and declines being fussed over. Gandalf seats him in one of the parlors. You let them have their chat. You're far too interested in the truly enchanting occurrence about to take place. You sit cross-legged in the floor by the fire. You're fairly impervious to the dark looks the Dwarves cast you; you're sure-or you very much hope-that you'll win at least their grudging respect before the end. Thorin ignores you completely.

The song starts at some silent cue. Your breath catches when Thorin begins in his rich, deep bass voice that resonates through the room. The others harmonize flawlessly until your whole chest is filled with music. You mouth along with the words, awed that you ever had the chance to witness this in real time. It's like witnessing the signing of the Declaration of Independence, only a lot more relevant to your interests. You sigh dreamily.

The excitement of the evening dissipates as the night wears on. You consider going to bed. Tomorrow will surely hold an early start-what time was it? Ten? Eleven? You'll need to set an alarm for earlier so you can shower first-

But your shoulders slump slightly when you recall that there are no alarm clocks, showers, or even electricity where you are now. The prospect of not bathing for days on end makes your skin crawl.

Someone grabs your arm and yanks you to the side. You wince preemptively, but it's only Thorin. He glowers at you before saying accusingly, "You knew the words."

"Of course I knew the words," you say before you can help yourself. It's a bit of a habit of yours to take slights on your Tolkien knowledge as a challenge. You're like a low-profile Stephen Colbert.

"Let us make one thing clear, elf: you are only coming because you may be useful. If that fact changes, or if I suspect treachery on your part..."

You're able to smile at the situation, much to Thorin's surprise. You very much want to take him seriously, but after browsing pages of fanart of him wearing flower crowns, it's a bit difficult. "It's fine that you don't trust me, Thorin, but believe it or not, I'm not your enemy. My only goal here is to help you."

His eyes narrow. "Why?"

The honest answer is because he's majestic and great and you love him, but that won't fly as a response. So you simply say, "Because you're worth it."

The stubborn Dwarf-lord stares impassively at you a moment longer before sweeping down the hall. You shake your head fondly like he's a grouchy toddler (which in your eyes he basically is) and retire to your room. You suppose you'll have to sleep lightly to hear when the party leaves; Bilbo can be late, but you've got a first impression to make.


	3. Awkward Omniscience

Alrighty, chapter three! The fourth should be up in a minute! Thanks to everyone who's looked over this so far and those who have faved/commented!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you! 

* * *

You break out a level of cheer rivaling the holiday spirit the next morning. You assist with breakfast and loading the ponies with a smile and a song. The sheer force of your concentrated delight is enough to disarm your new companions and elicit tones devoid of hostility, if not at least cordial.

You borrow one of Bilbo's packs and a few of his supplies, having been dimension-swapped with nothing but the clothes on your back. As you stuff several blankets into the pack, you hear Bofur ask, "What about the hobbit?"

"If he's not awake, we leave him behind," Thorin replies flatly.

Nori intones, "I'll wager he _does_ stay behind."

This leads to sides taken and money promised. You smile and shake your head at the antics. Even if you're not yet a part of the group, you can still appreciate them from afar.

"What of you, lady?" Fili asks. "What does your foresight say?"

"Me?" You blink, then smile again. "Bilbo will come," you say confidently. "He'll just be a little late."

The Dwarves pause at this pronouncement. You're thrilled to hear some of them change their wagers in undertones. Well, if it took losing a bet to get them to believe in you, so be it.

You leave Bag End with a private, heartfelt farewell to the round, green door and thriving garden. You take your place in the pony parade. Denizens of Hobbiton stare in amazement and outrage as the procession passes. You wave at all of them, because why not?

The road turns into a forest path that's shaded by ancient trees on both sides. You enjoy the sun filtered coolly through the green canopy, inhale the fresh woodland air, and take a moment to marvel yet again that you were somehow in the land of your dreams.

"Wait! Wait!" calls a voice from behind the procession. You grin and turn around. Bilbo is racing to catch up. The horses halt. "I signed it," he pants, handing the contract to Balin.

Balin examines the signatures and declares, "Everything seems to be in order. Welcome to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo beams. You giggle.

"Give him a pony," Thorin says.

Bilbo's smile vanishes. Against his wishes, he is seated on a pony. He rides stiffly, unused to the motion of the animal.

Bags of coins begin flying back and forth as the outcome of the bet is determined. You smirk and catch your own. The only reason you bet was to make a quick buck; now you owned the clothes on your back and ten gold pieces.

Bilbo sneezes violently. "Oh, this horse hair! I'm having a reaction!" he grumbles. He pats himself for his handkerchief.

"Looking for this?" You ride up next to him and produce the embroidered square of cloth. Bilbo takes it wonderingly. "I knew you'd be in a rush and forget to pack it," you explained, "so I picked it up before we left."

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

You frown at his somewhat clipped tone. "Are you mad at me?"

"Not mad, no. I just would have appreciated the truth, Lady Star-Follower."

"Oh!" You'd forgotten the discrepancy between your stories. "I'm sorry! But I didn't _technically_ lie - the stars did bring me here, if in a way I could never make you believe. I just didn't know Thorin would be coming so soon."

"And I didn't know he'd be coming at all!" Bilbo exclaimed. "You might have shared your foresight!"

"I can't tell you _everything_ I know. Some things you'll have to figure out for yourselves. I am sorry. Are you really mad at me? You were gonna be my only friend for a while..."

Bilbo softens at this, possibly because he understands the sentiment. "Alright. You're out of the woods this time. But you would do well to give me some hints about this business."

You laugh. "Yeah, I've got you covered."

You're mostly unaware that Gandalf was listening to this exchange, and that his grey eyes now rest on you.

Night falls and Thorin calls to make camp. You're happy to get off your horse, but not too thrilled about the sleeping arrangements. You always wondered how anyone could sleep on the ground with just a blanket between them and the dirt. Well, like it or not, you were about to find out.

Continuing your desperate crusade to improve the Dwarves' opinion of you, you attempt to help prepare supper. Bombur is having none of that, however, so you collect a large stack of firewood and sit quietly on a log to await your portion. The talk around the fire is in a mix of Khuzdul and Common, so you can glean that many of the conversations are about you. You're encouraged to hear that the tones are more curious than hateful. Your campaign of cheer of must have made an impact.

But how can you not be cheerful? It would probably take being captured by orcs and tortured for you not to be in a stellar mood. Of all the universes for one overpowered wish to land you in, you get Middle Earth. Then again, Harry Potter Land had running water _and_ magic...

"Here," says a voice from a bit above you. You blink out of your reverie and look up to see Kili with an extra bowl in hand.

"Oh, thanks." You take the offering. "By the way, sorry about embarrassing you earlier."

"I wasn't embarrassed!" Kili says indignantly. Another slight blush challenges his claim.

"Okay, my mistake! It's just that I had to make your uncle believe me, and I figured personal details were the best way to do that."

"Why was it so important for you to come with us? Why would an elf have so much interest in the business of Dwarves?"

"Everyone keeps asking that, and I keep giving the same answer: I want to help."

"But _why_?"

"Because I want Thorin as King Under the Mountain, and I want you and Fili as his successors, and I want Erebor to return to all its glory," you say firmly, and you mean it. You'd always wanted that, especially after Battle of the Five Armies crushed the dream, but now that you had a chance of making it happen, the desire was even stronger.

Kili sits next to you. "You are unlike any elf I've ever met."

You laugh. "How many elves have you met?"

"I...a few."

"Well, I'm glad _you_ don't hate me." You glance around, then whisper conspiratorially, "Wanna know a secret about your future?"

Kili's brown eyes widen and he nods.

"You'll find your true love on this quest."

"Oh, you tease!"

"I'm not teasing! She's amazing and gorgeous and a great warrior!"

"Tell me her name," Kili demands.

You shake your head. "Nah. Can't go giving it all away. Gotta leave something to the imagination."

Kili, though frustrated by the tantalizing lack of information, doesn't question you further. He runs to his brother, saying excitedly, "Fili, the lady elf says I'm going to find love!"

You smile fondly after him. He's even more wonderful in person. If you didn't think he'd stab you, you'd fulfill a lifelong goal and cuddle with him.

Gandalf's long shadow eclipses you. You jump at his sudden presence. "True love, hmm?" he says shrewdly.

"I - I was just giving him a little peek," you say almost guiltily.

"You sound nervous, good lady. Do I frighten you?"

"Ah, _I think so_, Mithrandir."

Gandalf takes Kili's vacated spot. His sharp gaze once again pierces you. You wrinkle your nose but try not to look away. He says slowly, "You are not from Mirkwood, nor are you from Rivendell or Lothlorien."

"I guess you could call me a wild elf."

"A wild elf, yet you have no weapon to defend yourself."

The fact hits you like a brick. You clap your hand to your forehead. How are you supposed to defend yourself without so much as a dagger?! You'll have to hope that there will be an extra blade in the troll-hole.

"And you seem surprised by this," Gandalf adds with a hint of bemusement.

You look up at him tiredly. "I'm gonna guess I haven't convinced you."

"I am not sure I trust you. There are many things about you and your knowledge that are a mystery to me. But I am convinced that you are no threat to this quest."

"That'll do for now," you sigh.

"I should like to know more about your insight, if you would humor me."

"I - well - " How can you say that you've memorized everything from yesterday to thirty months from now because you're obsessed with Tolkien? Gandalf wouldn't even know who Tolkien is! "I can't give you a straight answer, or even a roundabout one. Sorry, I know that doesn't make you trust me any more. It's just one of those things."

Gandalf continues to survey you. You dejectedly rest your head in your hand. You find it ironic that you never would have foreseen the struggles of omniscience.

"Well," Gandalf says in a gentler voice, "I suppose it's neither here nor there. We should be grateful that you're so willing to share your knowledge with us."

"Really?" you gasp, heart lifting. Gandalf winks at you. "O-Okay! Great! Thank you! I really didn't want you to hate me because you'll be the only voice of reason for when Thorin inevitably gets grumpy and tries to kick me out!"

Gandalf actually chuckles. "You know this for certain?"

You roll your eyes. "It doesn't take _foresight_ to know that Thorin gets grumpy, it only takes an hour in the same room with him."


	4. Stories

Okay, as promised, double dose! Again, thanks for all the views, favorites, and comments!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

You sleep surprisingly well for having only a thin blanket as a mattress. The clanking of breakfast preparation rouses you. The sun is up, but it can't be after eight. You growl to yourself and rise, throwing your top blanket over your head to fend off the early morning chill. The Dwarves stare unashamedly at this un-elf-like behavior, but you really couldn't care less. You're cold and grouchy and your back hurts a bit, and you're almost contemplating whining about it. You accept the sausage and eggs with a murmur of thanks.

Bilbo sits next to you with his own plate. He waits until no one is paying attention, then whispers to you, "I know the feeling."

You groan but smile. "I miss having a bed already."

"Didn't I tell you about adventures? Nasty and uncomfortable things. Perhaps you're not the only one with foresight!"

You laugh delightedly at the joke. Bilbo smiles, pleased that you find him amusing. You giggle, "Uncomfortable indeed, but bearable with company like you!"

"You are too kind, my lady."

"No, _you're_ too kind. I haven't thanked you properly for taking me in and dealing with me acting crazy. How would you like me to thank you?"

"Well, I heard Kili shouting about his true love or something of that nature. If you know, you could tell me if this quest will succeed."

"Of course we're gonna get into Erebor!" you scoff. "Is that even a question? Isn't there anything else you want to know?"

Bilbo hesitates, then murmurs, "About the dragon?"

"Don't worry about Smaug. You'll do fine."

"_I'll_ do fine?!"

"You're the burglar; did you think you were gonna steal us some snacks? Really, don't worry about it. You're the perfect hobbit for the job."

Bilbo does not look any more encouraged.

You set off on the day's ride. Soon the trees thin and disappear completely, leaving open scrub land in all direction. You recognize the area as somewhere near Weathertop. You hope the next camp will be in the ruins of the ancient watchtower; you can't wait to hear the story of Azalnubizar live and in person. It then occurs to you that the storyteller himself is only a few horses ahead of you.

You urge your pony, Thistle, ahead. You take a deep breath before coming up beside Balin; though he is the most courteous of the Dwarves, you still fear rejection. "Master Balin?" you say meekly.

The old Dwarf seems surprised that you're addressing him, but responds with a polite, "Yes, m'lady?"

"I was wondering if I could trouble you for a story?"

Balin raises his eyebrows. "A story? On what subject?"

"Anything. Everything. I'd even listen to genealogies."

"But don't you already know all my stories?" he asks slyly.

You giggle. "Fortunately, no! And even if I did, I'd be glad to hear them again."

Balin succumbs to your flattery and regales you with tale after tale. You hang on his every word, gasping and laughing and _ahh_ing in all the right places. All the while your brain is squealing like a teenager at a boy band concert at the sheer awesomeness of the situation. If only you had a camera to record everything so you'd never lose it!

The day flies by with your source of entertainment. You hardly notice when the ponies take to an incline for a time and then stop. You look around and gasp in delight: you've reached Weathertop already! You dismount Thistle and flit to and fro, examining every rock and pillar still standing. It's as good as a museum, not only because Thorin's backstory is revealed, but also because Aragorn brings the hobbits here -

You freeze solid and your breath catches in your chest. You're standing in almost the exact place that Frodo will lie over sixty years from now. It hadn't occurred to you until now that Frodo was part of the equation of Middle Earth, however far down the line. It hadn't occurred to you until now that, eventually, after Erebor is retaken, the trinket found by Bilbo in the goblin caves will pass to his nephew and a whole new adventure will begin. It hadn't occurred to you until now that the stars had given you more than you bargained for and then some.

"Aniel?" Bilbo's hesitant voice sound from behind you. "Are you alright?"

"I'm - I - " You swallow hard. "Need to sit." You plop down where you are to try to make sense of the chaos in your mind.

"Are you ill again? Should I tell - "

"No," you say a bit more strongly. "Don't tell Thorin. I just need to collect myself."

Bilbo dithers between staying by you and pretending nothing is wrong and eventually chooses the latter. You stay on the ground, again watching some of your favorite movies at super speed. The overwhelming amount of information makes you wonder if you made a mistake in your wish; you never realized how much different things could be on the other side of the screen. But here in Middle Earth, you were facing another six decades after reclaiming Erebor until things picked up again. Infinite catastrophes could occur within that period, especially with the way you intended to drastically alter the timeline. Of course, you had no choice but to join the War of the Ring; there were plenty of things in that story you could tweak for the better. All this, and you were only two days into your first quest.

Boots step quietly up to you. You recognize them as Kili's. You uncurl from your protective ball in an attempt to seem more elf-ly and look up at him with the fragile start of a smile.

"You're troubled," Kili begins. He seems uncomfortable even broaching the subject.

"No, I'm fine." You rub away any stray tears of distress that might have formed. "Don't worry about it."

"Is it...something I could help with?"

You laugh in spite of yourself. "That's an extraordinarily kind offer, Kili, but no. It's very far in the future anyway."

"It must be a burden, knowing things before they happen."

"I didn't think it would be, but yeah, it's shaping up to be kind of annoying."

"Well, dinner's ready, if you're interested..."

You realize that you're starving; riding horseback all day burns a surprising amount of calories. Kili offers you his hand, which you take while trying to suppress a blush. He lifts you from the ground with all of the strength you expected. You scold yourself for swooning. He has Tauriel coming! But Fili's single, and so is Thorin, so your menu isn't exactly lacking.

Through and after dinner you remain preoccupied with your latest revelation. You borrow paper and charcoal from Ori to get your buzzing thoughts out of your head. The but of parchment is soon covered in complicated diagrams and webs and side notes as you try to plan for every contingency from now until after Mount Doom. Had you not the veritable library of Tolkien knowledge you possess, the process would have been completely impossible, but you're comforted slightly as you read over your intricate plotting. The road will be long and hard and probably extremely irritating, but at least you have a plan.

A distant unearthly shriek rents the air. You jump and drop the charcoal. "What was that?" you and Bilbo gasp at he same time.

"Orcs..." Kili murmurs. He then grins and elbows Fili, who continues, "Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

Kili keeps an impressively straight face. "They strike in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep, quick and quiet - no screams, just lots of blood."

Bilbo looks terrified. You're about to scold the brothers, but Thorin beats you to it: he snaps, "You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili murmurs, avoiding his uncle's glare.

"No you didn't. You know nothing of the world." Thorin rises and stalks to the edge of Weathertop, either to keep watch or to keep up his brooding appearance. You'd be annoyed with him, but you're too excited to hear the story of Azalnubizar in real time.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin says gently. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

You fold your planning paper and tuck it between your vest and shirt. You swivel to face Balin and get cozy for the tale. You already know each word, but hearing it live and in person, under the dark of the open sky and in the chill of the night air, you find yourself utterly entranced. You picture the events as Balin recounts them. Somehow it's much more vivid in your head than they ever had been onscreen.

"...and I thought to myself then, there is one I could follow. There is one I could call king."

You rise with the other Dwarves and gaze adoringly at Thorin, who seems to be over his brief bout of temper. It overwhelms you how proud you are of him. You're embarrassed by the few tears that well in your eyes at the surge of emotion, but hey, you've cried more over less. Things settle down after that. You retire to your "bed" to try and net a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

A few hours is all you net. You rise more undead-looking than the previous day. Again you wrap yourself in your blanket as if to trick yourself into thinking you'll be allowed to return to slumber. No one is bemused by your behavior this time. You pack your belongings onto Thistle after breakfast and resign yourself to another long day in the saddle.

"You were crying," a deep voice accuses from behind you.

You jump and fumble your bedroll. Thorin doesn't pick it up for you. You scowl and return pointedly, "A word of warning would have been nice."

Thorin ignores that. "Last night, after Balin was finished, there were tears in your eyes. Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

"Well, it's not exactly a happy story, is it? But here you are, about to take back your throne. I guess I was just happy with the way things turned out." You say this in lieu of squishing his cheeks and cooing over how proud he made you.

Thorin regards you like he doesn't quite believe you. "And why would an elf have such emotion?"

You sigh and secure your bedroll with the rest of your things. "One day, Thorin, I'm going to prove to you that I'm a friend, and we'll be on better terms."

"You know this for certain?"

You gaze into his cold blue eyes, wishing they weren't so icy. "No, not for certain. It's just something I'm working towards."

At this, Thorin makes a bit of a face and returns to his own pony. You shake your head. Watching his annoying personality quirks was one thing; being on the receiving end of them was quite another.


	5. The In-Betweens

Okay, so forgive any inaccurate movie dialogue, I'm writing most of this next chunk while house sitting and I don't have access to the DVD to pop it in and, shockingly, sometimes my memory does fail me! As always, thank for all your interest! Also, if you're enjoying this reader insert, let me know. I'm considering branching it out into other fandoms.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

You expect to be bored during the days between the scenes you knew so well. You don't know how much time is supposed to pass before the company to stumbles upon the trolls. It's a delight to discover that none of it matters. You have a wonderful time riding and camping with the company, especially because you had begun to make friends.

It had started with Bilbo and Kili. Fili, trusting his brother's judgment, warmed up to you. Similarly, Bofur honored Bilbo's closeness with you, though you had a feeling Bofur is just too nice to really hate anyone. Then there is Balin, who is always good for a story or chat. You feel utterly accomplished with your veritable posse, but Thorin never fails to remind you of his continued dislike with just one scowl. But you try not to dwell on that.

You spend the traveling days conversing merrily with your friends and the evenings watching the stars before bed. You really glare at the twinkling beacons more than watch them, because despite the pure amazingness of your situation, you can't help but feel a little duped.

It's one such twilight after dinner. The fireside conversation is a pleasant drone against the natural noise of the wild. You're full of astonishingly good cooking given the time passed and lack of refrigeration. Your body has adjusted to the sleeping patterns and conditions. You have only one possible complaint, and that is -

You notice Fili and Kili and several other Dwarves gather their things and rise. "Where're you going?" you ask Kili.

"There's a river nearby," he replies. "We were going to wash."

"A bath?" you gasp joyfully. "I never thought I'd see the day!"

"Ah - you're coming with us?"

"If you are going to where the water is, I am coming with you." You strut past him, a bit thrilled to leave him speechless. Truly, you couldn't care less if you were going to bathe with a bunch of males. You'd never gone this long without a shower. You'd give them a private show if it got you clean.

Your resolve dips slightly once it comes down to stripping, but only slightly. You leave your shirt on until you submerge in the chilly water, then toss it on a rock. The stream, despite its temperature, dissolves the weeks of built up dirt. You groan and sink up to your neck.

Two keen pairs of eyes catch your attention as they glitter mischievously in the new moonlight. "You keep your distance," you warn the boys. "I'll drown you if you touch me."

Fili and Kili laugh and rise further out of the water. "We would not," Fili assures you. "We were taught to respect women regardless of race."

"By your mother, no doubt." You smile at the idea of Dis whacking a disrespectful Fili upside the head with a wooden spoon. "Well, I'm glad it's carried over."

"What do you know of our mother?" Kili inquires, backstroking in a circle around you.

"Not as much as I'd like. I would consider it an honor beyond treasure to meet Lady Dis."

"I'm not sure what she'd think of you, being an elf."

"You've warmed up to me being an elf!"

"Pretty, for an elf..."

"Drowning!" you remind him. "And don't forget, you're betrothed."

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

"Am I destined to find love on this journey?" Fili asks.

"Not that I know of, but you can always make your own destiny," you say suggestively. Kili cackles at his brother's expression of surprise at your forwardness.

Dwalin calls from down river, "Leave the lass alone!"

"Leave her!" Fili exclaims indignantly. "If you heard what she'd just said, you'd tell her to leave us alone!"

You squeal and splash the blond. "Don't give Dwalin a bad opinion of me that I haven't earned!"

This attack leads to a fully fledged water battle that several others are caught in the crossfire of. You eventually call a truce when you feel your toes pruning. You are then faced with the dilemma of getting out of the river with six other men doing the same. You turn your back until you're sure everyone is decent. You tell them that you'll be along. You want privacy for a once-in-a-lifetime streaking party.

You wait another several minutes to ensure you're completely alone, then step out of the river stark naked. You look down at yourself and cackle. You were naked and wet and in the middle of nowhere, and no one could tell you to get dressed. And you didn't intend to - not immediately, anyway. You dance and twirl in the treeline near the water. You fancy yourself a modern Luthien.

A cracking twig freezes you in your tracks. You squint through the darkness but see no sign of life. You suppose it was just an animal, but it's enough to bring an end to your frolicking. Now dry, you collect your clothes and return to camp. The boys tease you about elvish primping. You let them think that; it's less embarrassing than what you were really doing.

The next day the procession halts in a familiar landscape: a dilapidated farmhouse stands just off the road, and there are trees to the left. A tingle of excitement runs through you. It's troll night! That means you'll get your sword the next day, and later arrive at Rivendell! You help make camp with renewed cheer.

As dusk falls, you wonder how best to approach the night's entertainment. You would help Bilbo, but the troll incident was one of the first of many that gains him respect. He should do it alone. Still, you don't fancy being stuffed in a sack. But if Thorin asks you to assist with the rescue, turning him down won't make you look good.

Bofur finally tasks Bilbo with delivering dinner to Fili and Kili. You sigh and fall into step beside him. He looks up at you questioningly and you shake your head.

As expected, you find the boys standing in the clearing with most of the ponies. On a whim, you ask, "What were you doing to make you lose track of the ponies?"

The boys start and look around. Bilbo blinks. "The ponies are missing?"

"Two of them," Fili admits.

"Oh dear! Shouldn't we tell Thorin?"

"Ah, best not to worry him. As our official burglar, we were thinking you could look into it."

You trail after them and tut as they talk Bilbo into investigating the trolls. You say reprovingly, "You really couldn't have given him a harder signal."

"He'll be fine," Kili says confidently.

"No, actually, he's going to need rescuing in a few minutes."

"You know this?"

"Why do people still ask me that?" you wonder aloud. "You don't trust me by now?"

"If he is in danger, we must go!"

"No, not now." You yawn. "Give it a bit. Go ahead and eat first."

Fili regards you. "What's it like to know the future? To be so sure about everything?"

"I'm not sure about _everything_," you say modestly. "I know some things and I don't know some things."

"Then tell me what's going to happen after we rescue Bilbo."

You don't see any harm in doing so. The events following the troll encounter are not choice based, so giving away prior knowledge won't change them. "After we rescue Bilbo, Gandalf will cook the trolls sunny side up, we'll raid their hoard, and then we'll go to Rivendell."

"There's a mistake right there!" Fili laughs. "Thorin would never seek refuge with the elves of his own free will."

"You wanna bet? I could always use a bit more cash."

Fili puts five gold pieces on it and you prepare to have fifteen gold pieces to your name. Kili shakes his head and says, "I cannot believe you're betting against her."

"Neither can I," you add.

"I cannot believe you'd think Thorin would go to Rivendell," Fili counters.

"You'll see how wrong you are in good time," you say loftily. "And speaking of time, we should probably go get Bilbo."

Fili informs the company of the trouble. You follow Kili and gather sticks and rocks on the way. "I don't have a sword," you explain to his puzzled look. "Not yet, anyway. I'm hoping to find one in the troll hole. So I'll just throw things. Ooh, looks like we're not a moment too soon!"

Kili sees that you are absolutely correct and rushes out to keep Bilbo's toes from being scorched. You wait for the other fighters to join the skirmish before pelting the trolls with your improvised ammo. You drop the rock in your hand when Thorin disarms and allow yourself to be stuffed none too gently into an itchy burlap sack.

It so happens that you're dropped next to the Dwarf-lord himself. He mutters, "A word of warning would have been nice."

You scowl at him. "It must be so _dull_ not to know what's going to happen next."

"I do not need foresight to know what comes after this!"

"Oh, hush. Look, Bilbo's handling it." You nod at the hobbit just in time to hear him mention skinning.

"_Handling it?!_"

"Shh!"

You happily agree with the parasite infestation once everyone catches on. Finally Gandalf arrives and cracks the boulder, revealing the rising sun and turning the trolls to stone. You're keen on getting out of the uncomfortable sacks and stretching your limbs. You throw Thorin a smug look once he's righted. He glowers back, but you know you've made your point.

You trot along with the Dwarves in search of the troll hoard. You smell it before you see it; an awful stench of rot and decay oozes out of a tunnel in the rock. You retch at the mouth of the cave and have to cover your face just to be able to enter. You follow Thorin, knowing that he's the first to find the stash of swords. He raises an eyebrow at you but doesn't protest.

You smile when he picks up Orcrist. You've always thought the delicately curved elvish blade is a better match for him than his Dwarf-made one. You're sure not to grab Glamdring and instead reach for a pommel that ends in an artful swirl.

"These were forged in Gondolin by the high elves of the First Age," Gandalf murmurs, wiping some of the dust from his new weapon. Thorin begins to replace Orcrist in disgust; Gandalf says sharply, "You could not wish for a finer blade!"

You examine your own sword. It's bright and sharp and seems to be about as big as Sting. You're glad for the length; you have no idea how to use a sword and feel it's better for you to have less of a lethal metal object to brandish than more. You fingers close naturally around the leather grip. An exciting wave of new opportunities washes over you.

You strut out with your new toy and approach Fili and Kili. To Kili, you say brightly, "Got a sword now!"; to Fili, in a more gloating tone: "Two out of three. I'll take my payment later tonight."

"Looks nice," Kili complements. "Show us some moves."

"I can't, I don't know how to use it."

"Then perhaps I'll be keeping my five coins," Fili says slyly.

You gasp in fake hurt. "That's mean, Fili! You think I can't make it a day with a sword?"

"I'm shocked you made it more than a day without one!"

"I'll show you!" you pout. "I'll get someone to teach me!"

"Oh? Like who?"

"Like...Dwalin!"

Both of them laugh. You stick your tongue out at them. You bet you could coax Dwalin into giving you some lessons. He certainly isn't the most friendly type, but he did warn the boys about harassing you, so you figure he has at least a slight care about your well being.

You practice by yourself through Radagast's arrival; it's no news to you, so you needn't pay attention. Anyway, you want to get a feel for the sword before the wargs attack, just in case. You swing and jab like you've seen others do and giggle at how powerful you feel. You could smite entire armies with your gleaming blade, you could conquer lands, you could -

"Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asks nervously after a howl echoes from the distance.

"A wolf? No, that is not a wolf," Bofur responds, raising his hammer.

...You could definitely stay with the group and try not to engage in any one-on-one conflict because you enjoy having all of your limbs.

The warg leaps over the ridge and is killed by Thorin and Dwalin. Ori mentions that the ponies bolted. You make a face. You'd forgotten that detail. Now you're condemned to walking for a long while.

"I'll draw them off," Radagast says, hopping in his sled.

"These are Gundabad wargs. They'll outrun you!"

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits! I'd like to see them try!"

It's your cue to start running. You expect to be huffing and puffing in minutes, but you're elated to find that you can keep up with the company with ease. It's the first test of your new elvish perks, and you can't be more pleased with the results. You fly over the grassy plains, avoiding the wargs that are currently focused on Radagast. It's like a high-stakes version of hide and seek. If you didn't know any better, you'd be terrified; that explains the strained expression on Thorin's face.

You press yourself against the big rock to await Kili's slightly misguided arrow. The warg shrieks and topples to the ground. The Dwarves make short but messy work of it, but it's too late. The pack has been alerted. You retreat with the others, keeping an eye on Gandalf. You see him slip into hidden entrance in the rocks.

The Dwarves back into a tighter circle in the wake of the oncoming wargs. "Where's Gandalf?" Thorin yells.

"He's abandoned us!"

"No he hasn't," you say, feeling a lot like the mother of a rowdy bunch of boys. "Come on, in here!"

You lead them to the cleft in the rock and gesture for them to make their way. You stand on the peak of the oblique stone with Thorin, counting the Dwarves as they pass. After Kili slides down the incline, you look expectantly at Thorin. Your eyes lock for a mere moment, each silently telling the other to proceed. The next second, Thorin all but throws you inside before following.

You grunt as your rub your back, "I'll take that as a complement."

Dwalin calls, "I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur replies anxiously.

Gandalf murmur in amusement, "I think that would be wise." You catch his eye and smile, and he winks.

The company proceeds in single file through the narrow pathway. Bombur in particular struggles to inch through the close rock walls. Excitement mounts in your stomach with each step. If there was one place you can't wait to see besides Erebor, it's Rivendell. Other than Lorien, it is unequivocally the most beautiful place in all of Middle Earth. You build up a mental to-do list to complete in the few days you have to rest here.

The path finally opens up into a great valley. The fresh smell of water and pine fills you with bliss. You edge through the crowd to get a first view, and what a first view it is! It's like a Thomas Kinkade painting come to life, full of sweet color and fluid shapes found nowhere in the Wild.

"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf says grandly. "Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea. In the common tongue, it is known by another name."

"Rivendell," Bilbo says wonderingly.

You lean close to Fili and whisper, "Pay up."


	6. Imladris

Okay, ignore that last about incorrect movie quotes! I found a transcript of the script online so from here to the end of AUJ we should be spot-on! Ngl, this is my favorite chapter so far. Remember that bit about how you're not supposed to tell people the future? You kinda throw that one to the winds for Elrond. Also we find out that Thorin has a teeny secret that you get to exploit for some Dwarf-man-power. DID I MENTION I LOVE THIS CHAPTER.

Disclaimer: Tolkien own Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Each step into Rivendell you take with reverence. You breathe deeply to fill yourself with as much of the clean, vaguely sweet air as possibly. You give a low _ohh_ of wonder upon seeing Lindir come out to meet the company. He was the first real elf you'd ever laid eyes on, and you immediately knew you'd have a hard time acting up to the genuine thing.

"Mithrandir!" Lindir calls in greeting.

"Ah, Lindir!" Gandalf says merrily. "I must speak with Lord Elrond."

Lindir seems surprised by the request. "My Lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here?" Gandalf is even more surprised. "Where is he?"

A familiar horn sounds in the distance. Several horses trot over the bridge and into the courtyard. You smile upon seeing them, but Thorin yells something in Khuzdul. The Dwarves draw their weapons, ready for a fight. You're astonished when you are buffeted to the center of the protective ring along with dismounts. You watch in awe as he greets and converses in elvish with Gandalf. His gaze meets yours as he invites the company to dinner. You drop your head quickly, blushing. You wonder if you'll get away with not speaking with him, considering you know maybe twenty words total of elvish.

Unfortunately for your masquerade (but fortunately for your inner fangirl), you somehow find yourself sitting to the left of Thorin, only two places away from Elrond. You keep your eyes on your plate as much as you think is polite, but you can't help glancing up now and then to admire the architecture and the elves playing instruments. The song is floaty and dreamlike and adds perfectly to the tranquil atmosphere. You briefly consider just staying here, especially as you contemplate what lies ahead.

Elrond's voice pulls you out of your reverie. "It is an unexpected pleasure to greet kin this day."

"Oh!" You blush slightly. "The pleasure is mine, my lord. The tales of Imladris do not do it justice."

"And what is your name, my lady?"

"A-Aniel, I'm Aniel."

Elrond, aware of your nervousness, smiles gently. "You are welcome here, Lady Aniel. I must admit I'm intrigued to know how you came to join your current company."

"Lots of begging and even more luck," you say without really thinking.

"She's proven useful," Thorin covers. You beam at him.

The feast ends with evening and you having eaten past your fill. You're intent on going to your guest room, figuring out how to fill and warm a bathtub, and enjoying your last sleep in a real bed for a long while. You get all of three steps towards that goal when Thorin grabs your arm and drags you in another direction.

"Come with me," he orders.

"What? Why?"

"I want you to translate anything the elf-lord says."

"But I - er, yeah, alright." You follow Thorin to Elrond's private library, very glad that no elvish is spoken in the upcoming exchange. "You'll need to show him your map, by the way," you tell him.

"That's just what we're going to debate."

"Don't bother debating. He's the only one who can read it. Just get it over with."

Thorin very predictably does not take your advice and fights Gandalf every step of the way before grudgingly handing over the parchment. Elrond identifies the moon runes and leads the way to the crystal altar. The white moon refracts off the slab of crystal, illuminating the runes. Elrond reads aloud, "Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo asks.

Gandalf clarifies, "It is the Dwarves' new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together."

Thorin looks troubled. "This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon us."

"Don't worry," you say, "we'll get there just in time, Thorin. We'll get in."

"You know this? How?" Elrond looks sharply at you. You gulp.

"She has the gift of foresight," Thorin says almost carelessly. "It's been rather useful."

You smile brightly. "Thank you, Thorin!"

Elrond ignores the divergent exchange. His eyes are hawklike as they bore into yours. "It is not unheard of for elves to see beyond the present, but for one so young as you to have developed so far is...interesting. How far have you seen?"

You open your mouth, but a completely different type of intuition tells you that now is not the time to spout off your trivia. Instead you merely say, "I have seen Thorin as King Under the Mountain and Erebor rebuilt."

You can tell that Elrond does not quite believe you. "So this is your purpose, to enter the Mountain."

Thorin's eyes narrow. "What of it?"

"There are some who would not deem it wise."

Thorin takes back the map in a manner that summarily closes the conversation. He, Balin, Bilbo, and you follow the passage back to the library and into the pristine night. Each party says goodnight and goes their separate ways. You start to head to your room before you recall your goal of relaxation.

You whirl around; Thorin is only a few paces away. "Wait, Thorin!" you call after him.

He turns. "What?"

"Can you, er, help me with something?"

"With what?"

"I want a bath, but I don't think I can lug all that water back to my room alone. D'you mind?"

Thorin reacts to your request in the most unexpected way: he blinks rapidly and suddenly becomes very interested in the leaves on a nearby bush. "You cannot do that yourself?"

"Does it look like these sad elf arms can push a full tub of water?"

Thorin dithers a moment before relenting and following you to your room. It's a small but cozy chamber with a luxurious bed and fireplace. You sigh fondly at the sight of an actual bed.

"You don't fill the tub directly," Thorin says gruffly, taking a pitcher from the dresser. "You fill this and pour it in the tub."

"One by one?" you gasp, horrified. "But that's so many trips!"

"How did you do it where you come from?"

"Not like this! That's so much work!"

"Go wash in the falls, then!"

"No, I want _hot_ water!"

Thorin groans and heads to fill the pitcher. You grab a basin and follow. The pair of you go back and forth until the tub is filled, which admittedly doesn't take as much time as you thought it would. Thorin pushes it in front of the fire for you.

"Yay!" You beam at the best vestige of modern civilization that you've had in a while. "Thank you, Thorin!"

Thorin is standing by the fire, his arms cross, looking - you're shocked to realize - awkward. He says in a low, prim voice, "I must admit something to you."

A fire, a bath, and something to be admitted? This is right out of a fanfic! Your heart pounds at the possibility of Thorin confessing his undying love for you, or at least saying how beautiful you look in the moonlight. "Yes?" you press excitedly.

"I am not proud - whatever race, you are a lady, and you deserve such respect - and it was an accident - "

"Just tell me!"

"I saw you, er, dancing by the river."

You have no clue what he's talking about for a moment, then it hits you like a truck. "Augh, Thorin!" you exclaim, throwing your towel at him.

"My deepest apologies. I assure you that I did not take advantage of the situation. I hid until you were, ah, decent."

You recall the breaking twig and not seeing anything in the darkness. Your cheeks fill with heat. "Why didn't you _say_ something?!"

Thorin looks at you incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"You could have announced yourself or something! You came all this way with that in the back of your mind?"

"I did intend on coming clean, and I have. But why were you doing it in the first place?"

"Can't a girl dance naked in the woods without fear of being seen? It's the middle of the Wild, not Gondor!"

Thorin rubs his face in exasperation. "You are unlike any elf I've ever met. Or any Dwarf, for that matter."

"Wow, that makes three whole complements in one day! Did you have too much wine at dinner? Do you need to lie down?"

"You are just like my nephews," he grumbles.

"That's four!"

Thorin throws up his hands and stomps out. You laugh without restraint so he can hear you. The water has warmed in the time you were bothering Thorin, so you slip into the tub with a moan of relief. You haven't been graced with hot water in over a month, and you won't have it again at least until Lake Town. Therefore you stay in the tub until you almost drown from falling asleep. The long soak has done wonders for your morale. You dry off, slip into some night clothes so kindly provided, and are out as soon as your head touches the pillow.

You know you only have as long in Rivendell as it takes for the White Council to convene, so you set to work checking items off your to-do list. You explore every nook and cranny of the elven home. You have a peaceful, solitary lunch in the unparalleled gardens. You flip through a few books to just to be able to say you did, even though you can't read a word of them. You take a warm bath every night. Most importantly, you learn how to use a sword.

You stumble across a group of elves practicing one day on your exploration route. Fascinated, you draw your sword and try to copy their movements. Most of the forms are too fast and advanced for you to keep up with. You huff in frustration.

Heavy boots behind you make you pause. It's Thorin and Dwalin. You watch them sweep the very obvious scene of you with your sword and the elves in the distance and flush. "I was trying to learn," you mutter dispiritedly.

Thorin shakes his head in what seems to be amusement. Dwalin casts him a look and says, "Peeping through bushes is no way to learn, lass. Come out to the courtyard; I'll see what I can make of you."

"Really? Oh, thank you, Dwalin! It's gonna get rough from here, so I'm glad I'll know how to defend myself!" You skip ahead of them, swinging your sword with each hop. Behind you, Dwalin does not look encouraged.

Thorin asks, "How much more rough?"

You cease skipping and look over your shoulder at them. Thorin's face is free from the blood it will be drenched in all too soon. "Well...it'll be okay. Just remember that we all make it to Erebor."

Once in the courtyard, Dwalin teaches you the bare basics: footwork, parrying, and thrusting. Your confidence skyrockets when you're able to perform easy combos in slow motion. Dwalin, despite his gruff demeanor, is a very patient instructor. You draw a few passing observers, including Fili and Kili.

"Oi!" you exclaim when you see the blond brother. "You still owe me five coins!"

Fili grumbles something about hoping you'd forget and tosses you a small pouch. You smirk and tuck it away.

"Did you bet with her?" Thorin inquires, amused.

"Against her," Kili corrected. "I told him not to."

"What were the stakes?"

"That we would end up here."

You wince as Thorin stares at you in outrage. "You knew? You knew Gandalf would lead us here?"

"Er...well, we had to come anyway! Elrond had to read the map! And I wanted a hot bath!"

"A bath that you made me fill!"

It's the other three's turn to stare. You laugh yourself stupid as Thorin realizes what he said. He tries to explain. "It was a favor, she asked me to - I didn't - argh, _you_!"

Your laugh morphs into a scream as Thorin starts after you. You run in circles around the courtyard, screeching like the end of days is upon you - which, if Thorin catches you, it will be. Any attempt to gain support from the others is met with debilitating laughter. You wind up climbing a tree and sitting in the branches while Thorin glowers truimphantly up at you, pleased with his work.

"I expected plenty of things from you, Thorin Oakenshield, but you holding me hostage in a tree was not one of them!" you say sourly.

"Perhaps your foresight is failing, then, lady."

"Foresight! You little - !" You're not brave enough to face him on the ground, so you begin pelting him with the small nuts growing on the branches near you. You laugh maniacally as he's forced to swat the projectiles away.

Suddenly he stops fighting the rain of terror altogether, and Dwalin, Kili, and Fili stop cackling in the background. After one more well-aimed nut, you follow Thorin's gaze to see Gandalf and Elrond standing on the steps nearby. You slowly and quietly climb down from the tree and stand by Thorin, not meeting Elrond's eyes.

The elf-lord says with poorly-suppressed amusement, "Do not stop on my account. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

You blush. You'd forgotten Elrond has a sense of humor. "It's not what it...I...I really can't explain myself."

"Such innocent mirth never needs an explanation, young one. Would you do me the honor of walking with us?"

His light tone conflicts with what you fear might be a scolding. You bite your lip and go to him. Kili starts after you, but Thorin stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

The three of you ascend to Elrond's library. You use the walk to cook up a somewhat coherent excuse. "We were just playing," you say desperately once Elrond turns to you. "Dwalin was teaching me to use a sword, and then Thorin said something he shouldn't have and I teased him, and then he chased me up a tree so I threw nuts at him, and then - "

"You are not in trouble," Elrond cuts you off with a much broader smile. "It's been a while since so much laughter has filled these halls."

Gandalf says, "Lord Elrond simply wishes to ask you a few questions."

"Oh. _Oh_. About the foresight?" you guess sheepishly.

"I only wish to understand you more. To perhaps share in your knowledge and give you some of mine in return."

You agree reluctantly, "I'll tell you what I can."

"Are there things you cannot tell me?"

"It's just...well, there are things I can't tell people because they need to happen as they will," you explain. "They're not very pleasant - I guess I can say that after we get into the mountains, we'll be captured by goblins. Obviously not the ideal way to spend an afternoon. Gandalf will come get us - you would have even if I hadn't mentioned it, Gandalf - and we'll get into even less enjoyable things after that. Sure, I could make sure we don't camp in that particular cave, but very important things happen during that time, so it needs to go on."

Elrond is frowning with deep thought now. "What will happen?"

You shake your head. "Can't say. You'll find out in about sixty years."

"Sixty years!"

"I'm sorry," you say meekly. "I'm not trying to play games or anything! But I was put here with specific knowledge, and I'm gonna use it to change the future for the better."

Gandalf and Elrond exchange loaded looks. You play with the hem of your shirt, wondering if you would be punished *now*. After a long silence, Elrond finally says without heat, "Alright."

"Okay? I'm not in trouble?"

"No. Though it is hard for me to trust - forgive me, but until the scene of earlier, I thought you a servant of darkness - I will believe you."

Your heart soars. You almost hug Elrond in a surge of affection. "Okay!" you say breathlessly. "Good! Thank you! In that case, let me make it up to you! There are a few things I can tell you that shouldn't lead to any major disasters!"

Elrond collects writing equipment. "I am sure we will be in your debt, Lady Aniel. I would have whatever you would reveal."

"Okay, here we go. Long ways down the line, we'll make it to Esgaroth. It'll be about a day's trip from there to Erebor. Unfortunately, we will wake Smaug."

Gandalf exclaims, "You know this for certain?" and Elrond's brow furrows.

"Yeah, that's set in stone. I'm going to tell Bard the same and see if he can evacuate Esgaroth to minimize casualties. Either way, Smaug won't be out for long - Bard kills him with the last black arrow, but not before Esgaroth is charred. This'll be almost in time or Mirkwood to lay siege to Erebor."

"Thranduil," Elrond sighs like he's not surprised.

"Thranduil's not the problem. By that time Azog will have his armies from Gundabad. It'll be us, the Men of Esgaroth, Dain Ironfoot, and Mirkwood against so, so many orcs." You speak in earnest now, for this is the exact reason you intend to brave the rest of this journey. "The battle will be awful. We'll nearly be overrun, but we manage. But Thorin - "

"What about Thorin?" Gandalf asks sharply.

Your voice wavers. "The honest truth is that I joined this quest to keep Thorin and Fili and Kili from dying on Ravenhill. If I did nothing, they would have died, and I c-couldn't - " You shake away the tears and press on. "Azog and Bolg would have killed the three of them before the battle's end. But I can't let that happen. I can't, not after he's come this far!"

Gandalf puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. You feel silly crying in front of Elrond, but you can't help it. Sure, you sobbed like a baby when you saw Battle of the Five Armies, but that was just a movie. It's all real now, and the emotion is infinitely stronger.

"It's alright," Gandalf says gently, "no harm will come to Thorin. You've done well to tell us this. Now we can make our own preparations."

You swallow hard. You feel obligated now to help further and perhaps give yourself a better fighting chance in the future. "There's one more thing," you whisper. "The Necromancer in Dol Guldur - it's Sauron."

A chill wind blows through the open library. You wonder if you accidentally invoked some sort of Voldemort-like bad juju for saying the name.

"Impossible!" Elrond exclaims. "Sauron was vanquished. And what of this Necromancer?"

"Gandalf will explain it more when the White Council convenes. Saurman won't believe you, but Lady Galadriel will. But now that you know all this, you can't bring it up. You weren't _supposed_ to know, but I wanted you to."

Elrond gazes at you for a long time, and you gaze right back, not bothering to hide how exhausting it's been to be the sole bearer of such heavy knowledge. Eventually he says quietly, "You have done us a great service, Lady Aniel. I will do what I can to aid Thorin Oakenshield in the battle for Erebor. Until then, I would request that you tell no one else what you have told us this day. If word of your knowledge fell into the wrong hands..."

You nod tiredly. "I get it. I can keep a secret."

"Please, return to your friends. Gandalf and I have much to talk about."

"Okay." You bow slightly and head for the warmth of the late afternoon sun. "Oh, one more question - when exactly is the White Council coming? I fancy one more hot bath before we go."


	7. A Rock and a Hard Place

OK SO WHO CAN TELL HOW MUCH I LOVE THE THORIN/READER BANTER? BECAUSE I REALLY LOVE THE THORIN/READER BANTER.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You and Bilbo are very sorry to leave Rivendell. The air cools the further you trek from the valley and becomes damp and miserable in the mountains. A heavy storm starts before nightfall. The raindrops are icy and the wind cuts through your pitiful layers like they don't exist. You are so thoroughly dispirited that you give no thought to the future until a great boulder flies through the air and shatters on the mountain face above. You cower close to the mountain as sharp pieces of rock rain down upon the company.

Balin shouts, "This is no thunderstorm, it's a thunder battle! Look!"

Great figures of living stone emerge from the very mountainside. They punch and shove each other and throw boulders, uncaring of the very small and very easily crushed travelers nearby. Bofur is awed by them, and you'd like to share his sentiment, but you'd like to share it from perhaps inside of a nuclear fallout bunker.

The rock beneath your feet trembles and lurches. You squeal and clutch the nearest steady dwarf, which in this case is Kili. You'd forgotten the once-in-a-lifetime ride on the stone giant's legs the company had to endure. You also latch onto Bilbo, who is unashamed in returning the gesture. The ordeal lasts only about a minute, but it's a minute of swirling through open chasm in the wind and rain. Your ride suddenly shudders and tilts full-speed back towards the mountain path. Someone screams to jump, and you do so with all your might, bringing Bilbo with you. Your shoulder hits stationary stone hard, but you are grateful to be on inanimate ground once more.

"All right?" you ask Bilbo breathlessly.

"Y-Yes - thank you for - "

"Don't mention it." You figure the poor hobbit had enough to deal with without the tongue-lashing from Thorin you'd just prevented.

The company reunites and quickly ascends further to escape the stone giants. "In here," Thorin calls finally, motioning to a slit in the wet rock. "We will rest here for tonight."

You make a face; there won't be much resting done, but you enter nonetheless. You can't help but tread carefully on the sandy floor, like one heavy footfall will trigger the trap earlier than intended.

"There's nothing here," Dwalin reports after a sweep of the stone chamber.

Gloin drops an armful of wood and rubs his hands together. "Alright then! Let's get a fire started."

Thorin shakes his head. "No fires, not in this place. Get some sleep. We start at first light."

You shiver in the wet clothes that fire would have surely dried. You nestle into the warmest crevice you can find and burrito yourself in your blankets. You must look as miserable as you feel, for on his way to his bedroll, Thorin casts you an almost pitying look.

"We could start a fire," you grumble.

"No, not here. I would not like to advertise our presence."

"To what, the clouds?"

"Perhaps you should have foreseen the weather and packed accordingly."

"Thorin, would it be mutiny or regicide if I push you off the mountain?"

Thorin's beard twitches, and you get a rush of outrage. He _enjoys_ bothering you! He likes knowing he's gotten to you! He doesn't take your threats seriously; if he did, he'd probably dispose of you in your sleep. You squint at him, not knowing whether you should curse every part of his personality or be glad that there's even one little thing you can do to amuse him.

Try as you might, you can't seem to make yourself go to sleep. The ordeal of a few hours creeps under your skin like the cold of the rock wall seeping through your clothes. You finally give up and join Bofur on watch.

"You should sleep, lass," he scolds gently.

"Can't," you sigh.

"Is it something you've seen that keeps you 'wake?"

You shift uncomfortably and look around the room. You notice Thorin's blue eyes open. "Yeah, you could say that."

"What is it, then? Something bad?"

"It's certainly not pleasant, but it'll be fine. Just remember that no matter what happens, we are all in for a happy ending."

Bofur smiles. "That's a nice thing to hear, especially now. It's hard to keep your spirits up in the rain and the cold. You being here in the company is a comfort to me, if you don't mind me saying."

It's your turn to smile. "Thanks, Bofur. You've always been kind to me and I appreciate it more than I can say, given our, er, differences."

He laughs. "Elf or no, you've proven yourself loyal, and that's all we really care about."

You're about to respond when low creaking reaches your sensitive ears. For a split second you hope it's just the wind - then the sand on the floor begins to disappear.

You jump up. "Ah! It's time! Everybody wake up! Hey, I said _wake up_!"

There's a flurry of startled limbs and annoyed grumbles as the Dwarves rouse. Thorin starts towards you before the floor gives way.

You scream all the way down the rock tunnel slides. Each hard surface you hit leaves a bruise or worse and earns a particularly sharp cry. You feel like you've been in a dryer with a load of bricks by the time you fall on top of the mound of bodies.

You hardly know up from down before the awful shrieks of the goblins echo off the high ceiling of the cavern. You just close your eyes and don't fight the flow; it's painful enough being stabbed with ragged claws every time you are passed to a new captor. One goblin scratches you viciously on a whim. You yelp and open your eyes.

Goblin Town is, despite its unsavory inhabitants, a feat of engineering. Hundreds of levels of rickety wooden platforms lashed together with moldy rope are somehow capable of supporting the weight of thousands of goblins. You find yourself marveling at the mechanics of it all before you're pushed roughly into Dwalin's back. The convoy has halted.

The Great Goblin, even uglier in person, crunches several other goblins as he rises in a huff. "Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" he cries. "Spies? Thieves? Assassins?"

"Dwarves, Your Malevolence," the goblin in front reports.

"Dwarves?!"

"We found them on the front porch."

"Well, don't just stand there! Search them! Every crack, every crevice!"

Nasty hands tear at your person. They rip away your sword, but that's all you really have to take. The Dwarves put up a bit more of a fight. Oin's ear trumpet becomes a casualty.

Once every weapon has been confiscated, the Great Goblin demands, "What are you doing in these parts? Speak!"

No one so much as opens their mouths. You're rather impressed by their pride.

"Well then, if they will not talk, we'll make them squawk! Bring out the Mangler! Bring out the Bone Breaker! Start with the youngest."

Ori looks terrified as goblins grab for him. Thorin shouts, "Wait!" and emerges from the back of the group. You roll your eyes; enough time with Thorin has made you somewhat immune to his theatrics.

The Great Goblin squints and smiles maliciously. "Well, well, well, look who it is. Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror; King under the Mountain." He bows dramatically and sarcastically before "remembering", "Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain. And you're not a king. Which makes you nobody, really."

Thorin glowers up at the Goblin King. Your blood boils at the insult. You consider tearing the foul-smelling blob a new one; the struggle against the two goblins holding you earns you a swift swipe across the chest with filthy fingernails.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head," the Great Goblin continues. "Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak: an old enemy of yours. A Pale Orc astride a White Warg."

Some of the color drains from Thorin's face. He hisses, "Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago!"

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" the Great Goblin laughs darkly. He says in an aside to a deformed little thing in a basket, "Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize."

The surrounding goblins shriek with savage amusement.

"The rest are of no use to me. Let us have them as entertainment!"

The goblins are quick about dragging their oversized torture devices up from the depths of the cavern. The Great Goblin sang his awful song, whipping his subjects into more of an excited frenzy over the "entertainment" that will never come.

The goblin going through the pile of swords suddenly squeals and stumbles backwards. The reaction spreads to all the surrounding goblins; the Great Goblin recoils into his throne and gasps, "I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver, the Biter, the blade that sliced a thousand necks!"

The goblins surrounding the company froth with rage. One punches you in the stomach and another leaps on your back. You can't think of anything to do but return the favor. You gouge and bite at anything that moves.

"Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all! Cut off his head!"

Thorin is tackled to the ground in front of the group. Momentarily forgetting all you know, you scramble towards him, but your two particular adversaries pull you back.

A powerful shockwave and flash of light from your left sends you sprawling on the wooden ground. You shake your head, a bit daze from smashing it on someone's boot.

"Take up arms. Fight. Fight!"

Your heart soars. You have never been so relieved to hear anyone's voice in your life. You kick the goblins off you and grab your sword out of the pile. You've had all of three days worth of training and you are ready to kick some goblin ass.

You follow Gandalf closely, swinging your sharp metal weapon wildly whenever an enemy gets too close. More than once your lack of experience almost costs a Dwarf an eye or ear; Dwalin finds the seconds to send you a look that clearly says you're in for some brutal training if anyone makes it out alive. But you know that everyone _will_ make it out alive, so you are having a blast.

You accidentally back into Thorin while avoiding a spear. He steadies you and shouts over the din, "Is this what you call fine?!"

You throw him the fastest indignant glance you can spare. "Excuse me? I know you're not blaming me for this!"

"I should just like to be clear on your definition of a good ending!"

You manage to slash an oncoming goblin. "Does it look like it's over yet?"

He beheads several attackers in response.

You continue to rant. "Y'know, I've put up with your attitude and mistrust with good graces. I knew coming into this that you're the hardest-headed Dwarf to ever walk Middle Earth. But I would think that, for as hard as I've tried, I might have earned the benefit of the doubt!"

"You try too hard!"

"_Try too hard?!_ Thorin Oakenshield, I have had it up to here with your - shit!" You barely dodge an arrow; it lodges in a post right by your head.

"Why did you not warn me if you knew this would happen?"

"_Shockingly_, Thorin, there are bigger things going on in the world than this quest!"

You've managed to bicker your way into being blocked by the Great Goblin; he explodes out of the wooden floor and impedes the path. "You thought you could escape me?" he howls. He swings a massive mace at Gandalf, almost causing the Wizard to fall over. "What are you going to do now, wizard?"

Gandalf's three-part plan is explained via a poke to the eye and a gash across the stomach.

The Great Goblin says as though thoughtfully considering an opponent's argument, "That'll do it."

Gandalf makes his point by cutting the Goblin King's neck. The weight of the falling corpse causes the long-suffering wooden supports of the bridge to give way. With a creak and many snaps, the platform gives way and surfs deeper into the chasm. You scream and clutch Thorin's arm as your stomach launches into your neck; you are astonished when he responds by grabbing a handful of your shirt.

The fallen bridge disintegrates mere feet above the cavern floor. Despite your disorientation, you immediately roll out of the wood and crawl away.

"Well, that could have been worse!" Bofur exclaims.

Then, of course, a particularly giant goblin corpse lands on them.

"You've got to be joking!" Dwalin grunts.

Somehow the rest of the goblins are not far behind. The company digs their way out of the rubble and once more follows Gandalf. You're speed-limping more than running; elf or not, this night has brought more abuse than your poor once-human body and psyche has ever had to bear.

The setting sun bathes you in a warmth most welcome after the dank dampness of Goblin Town. You lean against a tree to catch your breath and collect yourself before the action starts up yet again. Between gasps for air, you curse adrenaline-filled climaxes.

"Five, six, seven, eight...Bifur, Bofur...that's ten...Fili, Kili...that's twelve...and Bombur - that makes thirteen - Aniel, fourteen." Gandalf nods, pleased with his calculations before realizing the sum is off. "Where's Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit? _Where is our hobbit_?"

Dwalin stomps the ground. "Curse the the halfling! Now he's lost?!"

"Not lost," you pant. "He's coming, just - just give him a minute - "

The minutes tick by. Bilbo does not appear. You don't care all that much, considering your lungs are on fire.

Thorin shakes his head bitterly. "He is not coming back. Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone."

You squint at Thorin and would reprimand him if you could get enough oxygen to do so.

"No," Bilbo says, appearing from behind a tree, "he isn't."

Bilbo's reappearance is met with gladness from all. You smirk smugly at Thorin, who has the grace to look at least a bit ashamed of himself.

Gandalf, in the midst of all the questions of Bilbo's escape, says with slightly forced cheer, "Well, what does it matter? He's back!"

"It matters," Thorin says, staring hard at Bilbo. "I want to know - why did you come back?"

You're thrilled to see that Bilbo is at the end of his rope with Thorin, enough to finally talk back. "Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back - because you don't have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

You beam proudly at Bilbo's eloquence. Thorin nods slightly and backs down, which is an added treat. But the good feeling is gone as soon as it comes: warg howls pierce the dimming day, much too close for comfort.

Thorin growls, "Out of the frying pan..."

"...and into the fire," Gandalf finishes. "Run!"

You groan as your exhausted muscles are forced back into high gear. Your legs tremble as you flee the oncoming warg pack. You hope you can hold out just a little bit longer - it's time for the final showdown.


	8. Fight and Flight

Any of y'all that are old followers are probably shocked at the two chapters per day update rate. I can only say that I hope to continue at this rate at least through BOFTA. As always, thank you most kindly for your continued support!

Disclaimer: Tolkien own Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The company runs to the promontory's edge. You knew there was no way down, but fear still rises in your chest as you look over the stark drop.

"Up into the trees!" Gandalf shouts. "All of you! Come on, climb!"

You're not quite sure you _want_ to climb; you know how _that_ ends, but considering the warg pack barreling down the way, you decide to deal with the trees. Once again your natural elvish talents serve you well as you climb fluidly over thick branches. The wargs circle the trunks like vultures. You scramble up a bit higher for good measure.

The wargs are distracted by the arrival of their master. Azog, atop the white warg, approaches the scene slowly as if to savor the moment.

"Azog?" Thorin whispers in disbelief. Azog speaks in the Dark Tongue, but you understand his drift, as does Thorin when Azog names him and his father directly. "It cannot be!"

Your heart throbs at Thorin's grief, but there's little time to comfort him: Azog orders the wargs forward again, and they break upon the tree trunks like a wave on a rock. The combined force of their vicious paws and snapping muzzles shakes the tree and uproots it. You jump with the Dwarves through the falling pines to the tallest one furthest on the precipice. It's such a stressful moment that you make sure to get a decent spot in the last tree, because you aren't about to cling to a flimsy branch and hope it doesn't snap.

The first flaming pine cone sails out of the tree in a graceful arc and ignites some dry brush. The wargs retreat in fear. Gandalf tosses another lit pinecone to Fili, who distributes the flame. You throw each miniature torch with savage enjoyment and aim all the time right for Azog. The fire on the ground grows and scorches some wargs. The Dwarves cheer.

"Hold on!" you yell at the first sign of swaying.

The tree lurches sickeningly to lie almost parallel with the ground, only there is no near ground to catch anyone who falls. You get dizzy looking at the deadly drop. You train your eyes on the closest thing in front of you, which happens to be Thorin's blazing face.

"Don't," you pant. "Thorin, don't do it, don't you dare - "

Thorin rises slowly to stand on the trunk, an expression of pure hatred in place. He draws his sword and heads purposely towards land. Any other time you would have giggled and sighed dreamily at his recklessness and majesty. Now you were just annoyed.

The branch you are on groans and splinters. You scream and clutch the wood as it dangles at a terrifying ninety degrees. "No no no, I am not supposed to die," you whisper to yourself. "I do not die like this!" But you don't know for sure, considering you were never meant to be here in the first place.

You hear screaming from on land. You inch closer to the trunk; the almost severed connection point crackles threateningly. You leap to the relative safety of the sturdier trunk just in time for the branch to fall and for Bilbo to rush past you. You follow him without a second thought.

The white warg throws Thorin through the air like an uninteresting chew toy. An orc dismounts and approaches him with a drawn blade. You know Bilbo has that situation well in hand. You set your sights on a bigger prize.

You scoop up a burning branch as you run towards a distracted Azog. With a freeing cry of rage, you plunge the branch into the white warg's face. It yelps and thrashes away from the burning branch, but you keep jabbing it everywhere you can reach. It finally swipes at you, knocking you on your back and possibly breaking several ribs. You get back on your feet defiantly. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Bilbo still protecting Thorin's body.

Suddenly, Dwalin, Kili, and Fili rush up to join you. Encouraged by their presence, you slash violently at the white warg. It roars and rears, throwing Azog to the ground. You freeze when Azog's pale blue eyes lock onto yours. He slowly rises and steps towards you, gripping his sword. Too terrified to move, you watch your life flash before your eyes.

An eage swoops in from nowhere and divebombs the warg pack. To your left, another eagle carefully lifts Thorin. His oak branch shield slipping from his limp fingers kindles one last, massive blaze of courage inside you. You slam your sword in its holder and make a mad run for it. You grab the shield with one hand, snatch up a cornered Bilbo with the other arm, and jump right off the side of the cliff.

Bilbo shouts in terror as you fall, probably wondering why you had to bring him down with you. The rush is exhilarating for you; cold wind whips your face as the starry sky above grows just a little more distant. As planned, you land surprisingly gently in a fluff of feathers as an eagle intercepts you. You make sure to flip Azog off as you fly out of his clutches and off into the night on the back of a giant freaking bird of prey.

"Why...did...you..." Bilbo grinds out, finally releasing the death grip he has on you.

"It was the best thing I could think of at the time," you say apologetically. "It was a bit of an impulse."

"_A bit of an _\- !" Bilbo glares at you, outrage. "You are the most infuriating and reckless woman I have ever met!"

"Ha, calling _me_ reckless? You're the one who murdered an orc and stood in front of your friend's unconscious body."

"Oh! Thorin!" Bilbo worriedly checks each eagle to see which one is carrying the injured Dwarf. "Is he alright?"

"Yes, he'll be fine. I think Thorin is literally too stubborn to die."

Morning breaks. The great orange sun finds you nestled deep in the feathers of your eagle, trying to avoid the cold wind of the skies. Soon after the sky turns from pink to blue, the eagles circle and land on the Carrock. One places Thorin gingerly on the ground.

"Thorin!" Gandalf exclaims, rushing to him. Thorin does not stir. Gandalf performs some sort of magic while the Dwarves and Bilbo look on in concern.

Thorin's eyes flutter open. "The halfling?" he asks faintly.

Gandalf smiles. "It's alright. Bilbo is here. He's quiet safe."

Kili and Dwalin help Thorin to his feet. He shrugs them off and fixes Bilbo with a piercing stare. "You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

The relieved smile that graced Bilbo's face flattens into a grimace.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us? ...I have never been so wrong in all my life!"

Witnessing _the_ hug in real time warms your exhausted heart. It's even more amazing to hear Thorin apologize to Bilbo for doubting him. If only he could admit he was wrong more often!

Thorin is distracted by a sight in the distance. The whole company gets to gaze upon the far-off profile of the Lonely Mountain for the first time. It's a breathtaking view.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bilbo asks in wonder.

Gandalf nods. "Erebor, The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth."

"Our home." Thorin's voice is quiet with emotion.

A flock of birds twitter overhead as they fly off in direction of the mountain. One in particular catches Oin's eye: "A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain!"

"That, my dear Oin, is a thrush," Gandalf corrects with a triumphant glance at Thorin. The first part of the map's instructions has held true.

Thorin smiles for what may quite be the first time since you met him. He murmurs, "We'll take it as a sign - a good omen."

"You're right," Bilbo agrees cheerfully. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

Your own smile fades as Bilbo says this. He does not know the road ahead like you do. The most grueling parts of the quest did in fact lay ahead, but the worst would never come to pass - not if you had any say in it.


	9. On the Carrock

A short sort of interlude in which you and Thorin come to an understanding in the Middle Earth equivalent of a hot tub.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The decision is made to rest on the Carrock until Thorin regains his strength. He fights this, claiming that he could go right on, and is summarily ignored. It's hilarious to see him grow visibly more frustrated as Oin tends to his many wounds. Only the hard, keen eye of a nearby Dwalin stops him from swatting the healer's hands away.

The eagles make a supply drop of blankets, wood, and animals for dinner. You neither knew nor cared where these offerings came from; you waved gratefully at them as they soar in circles above.

"You can rest easy here, my friends," Gandalf tells the company. "The eagles will patrol the nearby lands."

Rest! You sigh in relief at the mere mention of the word. Now that the action has wound down and there's no more need for adrenaline, you begin to feel the full force of the battering you took last night. The scratches across your chest were deep enough to bleed, but they are scabbed over now. You can't be bothered with cleaning them presently. Purple and blue bruises adorn your skin like discolored chicken pox, and a particularly terrible mark spans the entire right side of your rib cage from where the white warg pawed you. To top it all off, every muscle aches from overuse, and you are a profound level of exhausted.

Directly beneath the Carrock is a sort of cave roofed by the great promontory. This is where you and the company retreat for some well-earned sleep. For once you are indifferent to the stone floor; you take a blanket and lie down without wishing once for a mattress. At this point, you could have fallen asleep anywhere, perhaps even standing up.

Night has fallen when you wake. At first you're not quite sure what disturbed you, then a series of shuffles draws your attention. You're not the only one up; amidst the inert figures and thunderous snoring, one particular figure is stumping towards the lower cliffs.

"Thorin!" You rush over and grab his arm. "What are you doing? Are you alright? Should I get Oin?"

He makes a face and pulls his arm away. "I do not need help!"

"What are you doing?"

"I was going to the hot springs."

"Hot springs? Mmm, good idea."

"I was going _alone_."

"And now you're going with company, so deal with it."

Down on the lower cliffs of the Carrock are several pools of heated water running from wells deep in the earth. Thorin plops down beside one and undresses. You blink at him and feel your cheeks heat up. He glances up and sees you staring but does not comment. Once in nothing but his trousers, he slips into the pool with a grunt of pleasure.

You shed everything but your shirt and enter beside him. The hot water scours the injuries you left unchecked; you whimper in pain and relief. You sink in up to your chin and sigh.

"Do not think I didn't see you," Thorin murmurs.

"See me what? Staring at you stripping?"

"Earlier. You and the hobbit...he came for me while you went for Azog."

"Yeah, wasn't one of my better ideas..." you say sagely, warming your chilly ears.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you risk yourself? Why would you take on Azog alone? It was reckless and unwise - "

"Look who's talking!" you laugh. "I told you not to. See what happens when you don't listen to me?"

"You have no fight with Azog," he argues.

You shrug. "He was trying to kill you. That made it my fight."

"I don't understand why it matters to you."

"Really? You really don't? Even after I've told you a million times? Why don't you think about it for a minute."

Thorin falls silent. You don't know if he's actually thinking or just brooding.

You say quietly, "I could tell you why I was so adamant in joining you. The real reason."

He looks at you and can't disguise the interest in his tone when he says, "Tell me."

"I came because you and Fili and Kili were supposed to die before you ever got to claim the throne."

His eyes widen slightly. "Where? When? How? No, I would not put them in needless danger - "

"It's okay!" you say soothingly. "It's not going to happen now. Not on my watch. That's why I came with you."

"You came along...to keep me alive?"

"Yeah, and you've been making my job a lot harder than it needs to be."

"But why would you care? What purpose would it serve the elves to have me as King Under the Mountain?"

"The elves wouldn't benefit at all. Nobody sent me or assigned me this. I came of my own free will because _I_ want you as King Under the Mountain. _I_ want you to reclaim your homeland. _I_ want you to lead your people like you were meant to."

Thorin stares at you, lost for words. You hold his gaze calmly. He finally demands, "Tell me why this means so much to you."

It's an easy request to oblige; you've been ruminating on these feelings since earth. "Because you did whatever was necessary to keep your people alive. Because even though it's hard for you to show it, you are kind, Thorin, and you have a good heart. Because you deserve good things. Because - "

He nods almost eagerly for you to continue.

Instead of admitting your burning love for him, you finish, "Because it's your destiny."

Thorin muses on your words. "Then," he murmurs, "it seems I owe you another apology."

You blink at him in surprise. "What?"

"I see now that your intentions are pure - almost frighteningly so. I believe it may be in my best interest to take your opinions into consideration if you are truly trying to keep me alive. Also...I may have some regrets about chasing you up the tree in Rivendell."

You laugh loudly at this. "You do not!"

Thorin actually smiles. "Maybe one - did the elf-lord scold you greatly?"

"No, he just fancied a chat."

"Then you're right, I have no regrets there."

You chuckle as you settle back into the warm waters. "Thorin, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship."


	10. Queer Lodgings

Ok I just want to say how much I love the reader character's progression from "HEART EYES WHAT MAJESTIC GORGEOUS DWARVES SPARKLE LOVE" to, after like two weeks, "fuck all y'all and thorin in particular". Because like, tell me I'm wrong. I know for a fact that if I had to go through that long-ass journey, I'd get pretty disillusioned pretty quick. _Especially with Thorin._ I think a lot of the reasons we love our favorite characters is because we don't have to deal with them daily; shit, if I had to deal with Dean Winchester on a daily basis, I might shoot myself. _But anyway._

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The company camps on the Carrock for a little over a week, at which point Thorin makes it perfectly clear that he will be departing the next day with or without his company. In truth, you're excited to be on the road again. What lies ahead will put your behind-the-scenes scheming to the ultimate test.

To prevent Bilbo from being sent out of his way to scout, you murmur to Thorin during the descent into the forest, "Azog is catching up to us. Ask Gandalf about our destination."

You honestly don't expect it when Thorin immediately asks, "Where are we to hide from Azog?"

"There is a house...it's not far from here, where we might take refuge," Gandalf begins.

"Whose house? Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither. He will help us, or...he will kill us."

Thorin looks sharply at you. You shrug sheepishly. "What choice do we have?" he huffs.

"None. Come on! This way, quickly!"

You can hear the wargs howling much too close behind as the company breaks out of the forest and onto the plains. Up ahead is the sweet oasis of Beorn's cottage. You start to suggest a less brisk pace; surely the time saved by not sending Bilbo to scout could be used walking instead of running. That suggestion would have been a terrible one, for exactly at that moment, a monstrous black bear tears out of the trees behind the company. You're aware it's Beorn, but something about seeing a several-ton bear with a muzzle as long as your forearm coming for blood makes you less okay with slowing to a stroll. You outrun even Bombur, reaching the door first and flinging it wide open.

One by one the Dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf rush through the door. You secure it just in time for Beorn to crash into the other side. You wince as the wood groans upon impact.

"What is _that_?" Thorin pants.

"That is our host," Gandalf says. "His name is Beorn, and he's a skin-changer. Sometimes he's a huge black bear. Sometimes he's a great, strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overfond of Dwarves."

You suddenly wonder why Gandalf would have bothered to bring thirteen Dwarves here of all places. It was like showing up at Mirkwood and expecting guest suites. The Dwarves looked similarly confused and concerned.

"All right, now get some sleep, all of you. You'll be safe here tonight...I hope."

Beorn's home smells like fresh hay and honey. You certainly don't mind plopping down in a bale and making yourself comfortable. If the journey so far has taught you one thing, it's that sleep is a precious commodity and should be taken whenever and wherever possible. The sunlight streaming in through the high windows has warmed the hay to perfection. You drift off with ease, not even waking when Beorn enters in the middle of the night.

Kili rouses you much too soon with a cheerful, "Breakfast, Aniel!" You grumble and wear your blanket as a cloak as is your custom. A baby goat headbutts your leg gently as you make your way to the table. Its sheer adorableness wakes you up completely; you squat down to feed it hay and scratch behind its ears. Three more babies notice your generosity and flock to you for feeding and petting. You squeal with delight when one lets out a high-pitched bleat.

"The kids seem to have taken a liking to you," Beorn says from high above you.

"The feeling is mutual!" you say brightly. "Are there any more baby animals around?"

Beorn squints down at you. "You are elf-kin. Why do you travel with Dwarves?"

"Er, because I'm the black sheep of the elves? Wait - oh my god, is that a baby lamb? Ohh, lookit the baby!" You don't mean to ignore Beorn in favor of the veritable petting zoo forming around you, but he seems not to mind. He shoos the animals away so you can take a seat at the table.

The breakfast consists of eggs, biscuits with honey, and fresh goat milk. It's a humble spread that is incredibly delicious. Beorn drawls while pouring refills, "So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Thorin looks up. "You know of Azog? How?"

"My people were the first to live in the mountains before the Orcs came down from the North. The Defiler killed most of my family. But some he enslaved. Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."

"There are others like you?" Bilbo asks, surprised.

"Once there were many."

"And now?"

"Now there is only one."

You wish Bilbo knew how to extrapolate just a little better.

"You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn."

Gandalf nods. "Before Durin's Day falls, yes."

"You are running out of time."

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

"A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need."

"We will take the Elven Road. That path is still safe."

You make a face. If only Gandalf knew how wrong he is. The mention of creeping things reminds you of the giant spiders lurking in their thick webs in the high trees. You have absolutely no desire to tangle with those awful spawns of Ungoliant. You're so caught up in thought about how best to avoid the spiders that you only notice reality when Beorn's already deep voice grows deeper.

"I don't like Dwarves. They're greedy and blind - blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own."

You'd stick up for your your friends, but Beorn's not entirely wrong, so you just take another bite of biscuit.

"...But Orcs I hate more. What do you need?"

Gandalf, relieved at Beorn's cooperation, engages him in talk of ponies and provisions. You finish your breakfast and put your dish in the sink before going outside to explore the marvelous garden. Bumblebees the size of golf balls pay no mind to you as they buzz back and forth between flowers and their hives. Birds twitter in the ancient-looking trees. A family of bunnies munches on a clover patch. It's a contained ecosystem of nothing but beauty and joy, similar in some ways to Rivendell but ultimately much more wild and uncensored. You sit amidst the flowers and breathe deeply, completely at peace.

"Aniel."

"Hm?" You look over your shoulder; it's Thorin. "What is it?"

"You seemed troubled at breakfast when our host mentioned Mirkwood. Is there something I should know?"

"I'd just forgotten about it - there are spiders in Mirkwood. Massive ones. Like, the size of a small car - er, cart."

"You'd _forgotten_?"

"Yeah. Silly, I know - how could I possibly forget about giant, evil spiders? But given recent events, I've had a lot on my mind."

Thorin sits near you. "How does it work?" he asks, and he seems genuinely curious. "Your foresight, how does it work? Do you receive visions and revelations?"

"No, not like that. It's...well, it's more that I know giant chunks of what's going to happen."

"But how?"

"I've, uh, seen it play out. And every time I watch it, it's always the same. That's how I know that I can change fate by interfering. It's kind of exhilarating, playing god."

"But if you change one thing, how can you be sure that the rest will unfold as it's supposed to?"

You regard Thorin, impressed that he'd just nailed an important law of time travel without realizing it. "I've considered it," you say truthfully. "So far I've tried to tweak only little things that won't impact the bigger picture too much. But I have to be honest with you - after you take the throne, I have no idea what the future will hold. I mean, I'm sure it will be all good things, but as for specifics..."

"How can you be sure it will be good things?"

"Because I have faith in you, Thorin. You think I'd go this far out of my way to make sure you become king if I thought it would lead to disaster?"

He gives one of those rare, brief smiles. "Your confidence is encouraging."

"Well, when you know the future, it's hard not to be confident."

"I think of that when the road gets rough or when we are in danger. You told me once that we will all make it to Erebor, and I have held on to that."

"Thank you. That you're finally coming to trust me means more than I can say."

Thorin smiles briefly again and gets up. You watch him go, your own smile fading slowly. You wonder if his hard-earned trust in you will last when it comes for you to decide which side of the Arkenstone matter you will take.


	11. Mirkwood

Regarding the gems of Lasgalen, I'm going with the fan/P.J. theory that they and the necklace belonged to Thranduil's wife and that's why he's so eager to get them back. Because nothing says motive for war like reclaiming your dead wife's jewelry. Regarding this chapter: the reader gets to see what happens when you mess with fate: you get to have drinks with a hot elf prince! Well, okay, there's some slightly more concerning things, but let's focus on what's _really_ important.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Beorn sends the company off with packs full of supplies and some beautiful ponies. You are indescribably grateful to be on horseback again; the worst of all that *walking* nonsense is behind you. You feel quite like a princess, galloping over the open plains with the wind in your hair. You're sure you see both Dwalin and Thorin roll their eyes at your antics. You don't care. You just want as much fresh air as possible before going into Mirkwood.

That time comes all too soon. The border of the thick, twisting forest is abrupt and uninviting. You dismount unwillingly and gaze into the dark trees. You take several deep breaths to clear your mind of past and future clutter. You want to focus on Mirkwood presently; in particular, you want to focus on _not_ becoming spider snacks.

"Not my horse, I need it!" Gandalf shouts to Dori, striding purposefully out of the forest.

"You're not leaving us!" Bilbo says desperately.

"I would not do this unless I had to."

You recall the rather important side quest. You turn to Gandalf, who is giving instructions. "You must stay on the path. Do not leave it. If you do, you'll never find it again. No matter what may come, stay on the path!"

You catch Gandalf before he mounts his horse. "You're going to Dol Guldur?" you ask in an undertone.

"It is unavoidable."

"You remember what I said about the Necromancer?"

His grey eyes darken. "Yes."

"Be careful."

"And you. And Aniel - look after them."

You grin. "You hardly need to tell me."

Gandalf gallops off. Your confidence boosted by Gandalf's faith in your competence, you grab a long rope from Fili and announce, "Alright, gents - to make this as quick and painless as possible, all of you are going to keep one hand on this rope at all times. I'm sure none of us fancy getting lost in there. If I see one person let go of the rope for even a second, I'll tie you into it."

There are protests about various manly concerns such as dignity and childishness. You put a hand on a hip, daring any of them to fight you on it.

"Do as she says," Thorin orders. "Hurry. The sooner we get through this forest, the better."

You beam at him for his unexpected support. He nods curtly and grabs a section of the rope. You take a place in the front of the line, because frankly, you don't trust Thorin to find his way down a one-way street, let alone through Mirkwood.

The going is a bit slow because you frequently pause to make sure the cracked brick path you are on is the real one. The thick, heavy, stifling atmosphere does not help your concentration.

"How do you know the way?" Thorin inquires after about an hour. "You said you are not from here."

"'M not," you mutter, squinting downwards. "I'm just staying on the path."

"And is it so hard?"

You catch the attitude behind the comment and frown at him. "_You_ got lost twice on the way to Bilbo's house," you remind him, "and _I_ don't plan on becoming a spider's dinner."

Your strategy of intense ground scrutiny works to keep everyone safe - or so you assume, until murmurs make you halt and look up. The trees are coated in white, sticky webbing; it hangs ominously off of every surface, belying its vile creators.

"Don't touch it!" you hiss. The several Dwarves (and Bilbo) who reached out hands freeze. "It'll alert them. Just keep watch and _don't touch the webs_."

You tiptoe even more carefully now, checking above as well as below so you don't get the nice surprise of a spider the size of a Mini Cooper on your back.

"This is what you meant by spiders," Thorin murmurs behind you.

"It's too close to what I meant. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Wasn't supposed to happen?" Thorin looks at you in alarm. "What do you mean, _wasn't supposed to happen?!_"

"Calm down! We're not in webs, so as far as I'm concerned, it's a minor setback."

"We don't have time for setbacks! If you've gotten us lost - "

"We are not lost!" you exclaim, finally losing your temper. "We are on the path and we are going to get through this stupid forest!"

Your outburst echoes into nothingness. The forest responds with a low, eerie chatter from the highest boughs. You can just discern movement in the shadows of the canopy.

You sigh heavily and draw your sword. "Alright, well, I can take responsibility. This one's on me."

The spiders that drop from on high are even more terrifying in person. Their pincers are almost as big as your arm, and their many eyes rove wildly, looking for prey. You just hack at anything that comes near you; spiders have never exactly elicited courage from you, and that was when they were no bigger than a dime. The one silver lining you hold on to as you slash at the oversized beasts is that at least you won't be wrapped up like a burrito. Except, as you consider it, that may not be such a silver lining after all.

You fight your way over to Bilbo and yank him behind a tree. "Use your ring," you whisper urgently to him.

Bilbo blinks and stammers, "I - I don't know what you - "

"Bilbo, I do not have time for that! Use the ring and disappear, now! You'll be the only one who can rescue us!"

An arrow sails through the air and embeds in an eye of a spider that was creeping up on you. You look around to thank Kili, but he's in the opposite direction of where the shot came from. You see a blond whoosh of hair descending on a cord of thread and groan internally just as much as you squeal.

The Mirkwood guard makes short work of the spiders. You grin as Tauriel saves Kili from one rogue arachnid. The smile is short lived when you meet the unfriendly end of a bow.

"Search them," Legolas orders.

The elves move into action. The one who disarms you does so less roughly; he gazes at you in confusion and says something in elvish to Legolas. Legolas glances over and does a double take. He asks you something you don't understand.

"Er...I don't speak elvish," you say sheepishly.

"You do not speak your own language?" Legolas is shocked. "Who are you? I do not know your face, yet you are dressed as one of the guard."

You break out in a sweat. "I'm not from Mirkwood. The dress is strictly coincidental."

"I would believe you on that point since you do not even speak your native tongue."

Legolas receives Orcrist from another elf. He comments on the blade in elvish, then asks Thorin sharply, "Where did you get this?"

"It was given to me."

"Not just a thief, but a liar as well."

"He's not lying," you say. Both Thorin and Legolas look at you. "It was given to him by Lord Elrond."

"Lord Elrond?" Legolas raises an eyebrow at you. "What business would Dwarves have in Rivendell?"

"Our business is none of yours," Thorin snaps. You rub your face, exasperated.

Legolas gives the word, and the company is marched into captivity. You heave a sigh and resign yourself to a long night in a dungeon cell. You shoot an annoyed glare at Thorin, who sets his jaw and avoids your gaze.

"Not those two," Legolas says as guards open a cell for you and Thorin. "The king will want to see them."

This was not part of the plan. Only Thorin was supposed to talk with Thranduil. You do not know how the Elven-King will react to your presence. You stick close to Thorin as the guards escort you to the throne room.

Upon a grand platform at the top of a flight of stairs he sits in all his antler-themed glory. He's even more glamorous in person; his long, white-blond hair is as silky as his robes, and his expression is a careful arrangement of aloofness and arrogance. You grin internally at his glorious douchebaggery.

"Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand," Thranduil begins, rising from his throne and winding down the stairs to the platform. "A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of that ilk."

Thranduil comes to a stop in front of the two of you. His icy blue eyes rest on you. "Yet this is something I did not expect. Why does an elf dressed like one of my own guard travel with Thorin Oakenshield?"

"I - I - " You're not sure how or if you should answer the question. You bite your lip and look to Thorin.

"Her involvement is no concern of yours," Thorin says darkly. "And neither is our quest."

"It is as I thought: you have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King's Jewel - the Arkenstone."

Your stomach flops at the mention of the Arkenstone.

"It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire: white gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help."

Thorin crosses his arms. "I am listening," he says almost cordially, and had you not known better, you would have thought him genuine.

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."

"A favor for a favor."

"You have my word," Thranduil says gracefully. "One king to another."

Thorin walks to the edge of the platform as if to contemplate the offer. You brace for impact.

"I would not trust Thranduil, the _great king,_ to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us! You, who lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your _friends_. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help,but you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"

"Do not talk to me of dragon fire!" Thranduil hisses. "I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North." With one last glare, Thranduil withdraws towards his throne. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen. You are just like him. Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an Elf. I'm patient. I can wait."

Guards grab you and Thorin and march you towards the dungeon.

"Not her," Thranduil adds absently. "She stays."

Panic rising in your chest, you look to Thorin and find him just as alarmed. You mouth before he is pulled away, "Go on without me." He nods once and disappears down the stairs.

You turn to face Thranduil, who is surveying you imperiously from his throne. You are completely out of your depth as you stare down the Elven-King. You never planned on meeting him face to face, or at least not until the battle at Erebor.

You say carefully, "If it's all the same to my king, I would prefer to remain with my company."

"Perhaps I will allow it, but not before you answer some of my questions."

"I'll - I'll tell you what I can..."

Just then, Legolas appears from the stairs. "The Dwarves are imprisoned as you requested, but there is still - " He cuts off when he notices your presence. You incline your head respectfully. "There is still her," he finishes.

"We did not come to steal from you or cause you trouble, my lord," you say to Thranduil. "We simply wished to reach Erebor by the safest route. This is all a misunderstanding. And I apologize for Thorin - I know how, er, _abrasive_ he can be - "

"Which is why I am interested," Thranduil says silkily. "Why have you chosen to ally yourself with Thorin Oakenshield? What could you possibly stand to gain from it?"

"Well...nothing, really," you say truthfully. "I'm not doing it for my gain. I'm doing it to help him reclaim his homeland."

"And do you know that there is one very large, very dangerous thing standing in the way of that?"

"Yes, but we'll kill Smaug. It shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"You are confident to a fault," Legolas comments with what sounds like amusement. "Perhaps spending so much time around Dwarves has given you some of their less desirable traits."

Thranduil continues, "And there is still the matter of why you are dressed like one of this realm. I have never seen your face in my kingdom."

"As I told the prince, I am not from Mirkwood. The outfit is a coincidence," you say firmly.

"She almost reminds me of Tauriel," Legolas murmurs.

You glance pointedly at him. You'd start serving up some sass if you don't think it would get you killed. You address Thranduil. "Could we not come to an agreement? I know Thorin can be unreasonable, but I am open to compromise if you would release us."

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"The white gems of Lasgalen."

Thranduil's eyes widen slightly. "It is unwise to jest about this matter," he says very softly, and you shiver at the warning.

"I'm not jesting. I can get them for you. That's what you wanted from Thorin, isn't it? It's a very fair price. After all, they're rightfully yours. The necklace is finished. I'll return it and everything else I can find to you if you let us go."

"How do you know of the necklace?" Thranduil demands. His voice echoes slightly around the chamber.

"Does it matter?" You congratulate yourself on a steady voice. "You get yours in the end."

"It matters!" Thranduil once again sweeps down from his throne and circles you like a snake. "You are but a child, not nearly old enough to have been there when our feud with the Dwarves began. Did your Dwarf friends brag to you of their thievery?"

"No, it's not like that - "

"Or perhaps you knew it another way - through insight common to elvenkind."

You swallow hard. It's impossible to lie when those cold, clear blue eyes are boring into yours, but you stick to your guns: "Do you want the gems or not?"

"I do not need your help to reclaim what is mine." Thranduil waves his hand, and Legolas gently but firmly takes your arm.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask when Legolas does not lead you to the dungeons.

"My father can be rash. I'm sure he will want to discuss the gems with you again. And if you are kin, you deserve better than a dungeon cell."

You squint up at his fair face. "That's not all, is it?"

He does not answer.

"Are you trying to make nice so I'll give up some sweet foresight knowledge?"

Legolas smiles slightly at you. "You have an odd way of speaking."

"I know. I'm shocked that you're the first to call me out on it. But you didn't answer my question."

He pauses a moment before saying, "Did you know that the necklace was designed by my father for my mother?"

"I did know. That's why I wanted to return it."

"In exchange for the freedom of your Dwarf friends?"

"Yes, but even though that didn't quite work out, I'll do my best to get it anyway."

Legolas blinks at you. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I want Thranduil to have it."

"What would you ask in return?"

"Nothing! Why is everybody always so suspicious? Am I the one person in all of Middle Earth who doesn't have ulterior motives?"

"Perhaps you are."

You've arrived at a sort of miniature apartment; there's a table and sitting area, and a bed in the corner. Legolas releases his grip on your arm. You look at him in askance.

"As I said, I will not put you in the dungeon, but you must remain here. Make yourself at home. Would you like a drink? It is Merethen Gilith, after all."

"Uh...yes, thank you." You suppose accepting a drink rather than declining would make you seem grateful instead of suspicious of the preferential treatment. He pours a rich red liquid into a goblet and hands it to you. You take a tentative sip. The wine is very sweet and somewhat fruity, with almost no trace of alcohol to it; you realize why it's so easy for Mirkwood elves to get plastered.

Legolas pours his own drink and sits at the table opposite you. After a moment of quiet observation, he asks, "Why can you not speak elvish?"

You actually laugh. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"I simply do not understand. Forgive me if it's too personal a question."

"No, it's okay. I just wasn't raised with it. I wasn't raised around other elves." Or wizards or hobbits or Dwarves, for that matter...

"Were your parents from Mirkwood?"

"No. They, uh, were killed when I was young. I've been on my own for most of my life."

"I am sorry to hear that. It's astonishing that such trials did not harden your heart. You are very kind for having suffered so much."

You shrug lightly. "Foresight helped."

"About that..."

You grin. "We come to it at last."

"For a group of Dwarves so large to come this far east can only mean that their aim is the Lonely Mountain. Is it true that Thorin Oakenshield seeks to enter Erebor?"

"It's true."

Legolas shakes his head. "It is impossible. There is no way into that mountain, and even if there was, there is a dragon in its depths."

You tilt your head, sizing Legolas up. You'll be seeing him in sixty years, him with a massive attitude adjustment, so you decide to trust him. "We will enter the mountain," you tell him. "Smaug will be slain, and Thorin will be King Under the Mountain."

"And you know this for certain?"

"I do."

"My father says that even the wisest cannot be certain of all things."

"Well, I _am_ certain. I even knew that we would end up here. _This_ part was a surprise, though, but not unwelcome."

Legolas drinks deeply. You wonder if the flirt flustered him.

A harried elf bursts in. "My lord Legolas, the prisoners are escaping!" he shouts.

Legolas looks between the elf and you. You shrug and smile. Legolas rises and grabs his bow. "Stay here," he orders.

"I will."

The two disappear. You give them a few seconds' head start before dashing after them.

The spot-on Tauriel cosplay that became your clothes had never served you better until this moment. You sneak into the intercepting group by keeping your head down. You even net a bow and some daggers from the armory, which is great, except you're no Robin Hood. You focus less on hitting orcs and more on not hitting elves, soon giving up the bow in favor of the daggers. It's easy to look busy without doing much real fighting as you follow the barrel-bound Dwarves down the river. You aren't able to stop Kili from getting shot; you wince, but it's for the best, since it will give him and Tauriel a chance to solidify their bond.

The number of orcs thins thanks to the skill of the Mirkwood guard. You recognize the point where Legolas calls off the pursuit nearing. You sheath your new daggers and, instead of stopping, jump right off the cliff into the rushing river. You surface, sputtering and disoriented, and scrabble for the wood of a barrel. Once your hand finds purchase, you look back to the cliff. There Legolas stands with a look of utter astonishment.

"Sorry!" you call over the frothing of the rapids, and you mean it.

As the flow carries you further down the river, you could swear you see the elf prince smile.


	12. Esgaroth

I do apologize for the gap in updates! (a laugh track plays in the background because I've gone months without updating some of my other fics) I've been engaging in the traditional human pastime known as "socializing" a lot lately, and I'll be out tomorrow as well. But I've made sure to work on this as much as possible! As always, thank you so much for the kind words in your reviews. I can't tell you how encouraging it is that other people like this fic as much as I do. Enjoy! P.S.: God bless people who put transcripts online tho.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

"Was that Aniel who jumped?"

"Aniel? Where is she?"

"Present!" you gasp, spitting out a mouthful of water. "Made it!"

You notice Bilbo clinging to a barrel like a drowning cat. You work with the tide to reach him and pull him onto your back. "This might make the ride a little easier for you," you say cheerfully. He half-laughs and locks his legs around your waist.

The raging rapids eventually calm. You paddle to shore and unload Bilbo before heaving yourself onto the rocks. "Could've been worse," you murmur, exhausted.

Bilbo shoots you a look. "I almost drowned."

"And _almost_ is the key word there."

The Dwarves spill out of their barrels like very unusual cargo. You immediately go to tend to Kili. "I'm fine," he insists petulantly as you tear off a length of your tunic.

"No, you're not. But you will be, I promise. He will be," you add to a very upset Fili. "Haven't you learned to trust me?"

"I must," Fili replies with an attempt at humor that falls flat. "Before I was just betting money. Now the wager is something vastly more important."

"I _promise_." You place a hand on his shoulder for emphasis. He nods once, looking only slightly comforted.

An arrow sings through the air. You whip around to see it embed in a branch held by Dwalin. Kili grabs a rock and receives the same treatment.

"Do it again and you're dead."

Your heart flutters at the sight of Bard. You stand up a little too eagerly and are met with the threatening end of an arrow. You don't take it personally.

Balin steps forward, hands raised. "Excuse me, but you're from Lake-town, if I'm not mistaken. That barge over there - it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?"

Bard eyes him suspiciously. "What makes you think I would help you?"

You've heard this conversation a million times before, and you'd rather have one of your own. You and Bilbo are near the back of the group; you sit on a rock so as to be closer to his level. "I'm sorry for being short with you in Mirkwood," you say quietly. "About the ring, I mean."

"It's alright, but how did you know I had it? I told no one."

"You got it in the goblin caves."

"How did you - ah, yes, that's right. You knew I would find it."

"Yeah. That's why I couldn't completely bypass that entire bit, much as I wanted to - it was imperative that you find that ring."

"Yes, I see what you mean. It's come in quite handy, hasn't it?"

"It'll be even more handy later. I won't tell anyone you have it. That's your business."

Bilbo smiles slightly. "Thank you, Aniel."

You plaster on your own smile, but it doesn't last. If only Bilbo knew the true nature of what he carries in his pocket. If only he knew why you had to make sure he found it. Your heart bursts with emotion for the hobbit.

Bilbo notices the change in your expression. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yeah," you lie, clearing your throat. "I was just thinking about how fond I am of you, and how lucky I am to have met you."

"Lucky? That's a bit of an overstatement..."

"It's not. You're so kind and honest and brave and loyal and just _good_. The world would benefit from more people like you. You can't even fathom how important you are, Bilbo Baggins."

"Goodness!" His cheeks redden slightly at the flurry of complements. "It's an honor to know you think so highly of me! I shall try to live up to your esteem."

"Oh Bilbo, you _do_ live up to it. Just remember that when the going gets tough."

Thorin calls for the two of you to get on the barge. You and Bilbo scurry aboard. Once the land recedes, you try to get into a more elvish character to meet and possibly flirt heavily with Bard.

He raises his eyebrows as you sweep up to the helm. "You are from the Woodland Realm," he murmurs almost more to himself.

"Ah, yes and no. I'm Aniel. I'm very glad to meet you, Bard, and I appreciate you smuggling us into Lake Town."

"Are you also visiting kin in the Iron Hills?"

You laugh, even though you're sure it was meant as sarcasm more than a joke. "It's almost like you don't believe them!"

"It's not every day I get such a request as this, so you'll forgive my slow trust."

"What if I were to tell you that I'm traveling with them to the Iron Hills to talk to the lord of the land about opening up trade with Mirkwood? Would you believe them then?"

"I'm...not sure. Though it is a more plausible story and would account for a lady elf amongst a band of Dwarves."

"Good, then we'll go with something like that. I'll explain the real reason to you later."

"Then you are _not_ a diplomat?"

You smile widely at him. "Do I act like one?"

"You certainly are much more friendly than the elves I've dealt with in the past."

"Good. I'm sure I'll need all the charm I can muster to deal with what we're sailing into."

The Lonely Mountain looms into view through the thick, chilly fog. It's an awe-inspiring sight that hushes the quibble about money. You stare up at it, mind full of events to come.

Bard approaches the Dwarves. "The money, quick. Give it to me."

"We will pay you when we get our provisions, but not before," Thorin says.

"If you value your freedom, you'll do as I say. There are guards ahead."

You smirk and wave at the Dwarves as they hide in the barrels. You're very happy your alibi spares you the same fate of being buried in fish; you wince gleefully at the slapping sounds of the scaled creatures being poured in.

"They won't thank you for that," you giggle as Bard takes the rudder once more.

"I get the feeling they won't thank me for any of this," Bard returns wryly.

"Probably not, but I'm thankful already. I appreciate the risk you're taking, and I'll do my best to make it lighter on you."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Oh, you'll see." For this time you do have a plan, and you can't wait to assume the role of elven dignitary.

The toll man, Percy, calls as the barge glides up to the gate, "Halt! Goods inspection! Papers, please! Oh, it's you, Bard."

"Morning, Percy."

"Anything to declare?"

"Nothing, but that I am cold and tired and ready for home."

"You and me both. There we are. All in order."

But the exchange couldn't go smoothly, of course. That little weasel, Alfrid - you wrinkle your nose - steps out of the shadows. "Not so fast."

You can almost hear Bard roll his eyes.

Alfrid snatches the papers out of Percy's hands. "Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only they're not empty, are they, Bard? And you're not alone."

All eyes fall on you. You smile blandly, more than ready to begin your act. "I've come on behalf of King Thranduil of Mirkwood," you say lightly. "He is interested to see how our realm's most valuable trade partner's town is doing. These fish are a gift from him."

Alfrid immediately cleans up his act in the presence of someone "important". "Of course, milady. The Master always welcomes those from the Woodland Realm. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to your lodgings."

"Thank you, but Bard has already kindly offered me a place to stay. The Master certainly is lucky to have this most excellent bargeman in his service."

Alfrid, clearly displeased, bows. "As the lady wishes."

Percy opens the gates, and the barge sails through.

Bard guides the barge through the water-streets of Lake Town. Without looking at you, he says, "You lied through your teeth."

"Of course I did!"

He cannot suppress a smile.

Bard sells off the fish and leads the company through the many twists and turns of the wooden city. A teenage boy suddenly skids up to him. Taking little notice of the odd group, Bain near-whispers, "Da, our house, it's being watched!"

You know what's coming next and grin again. A quick dip in the water will do wonders for the fish smell. You consider making a joke about this, but since Dwalin already looks on the verge of murder, you abstain.

Bard's house is on the upper levels of the town. You suppose only years of living in Lake Town allowed anyone to travel anywhere; you couldn't make your way back to the front gate if your life depended on it. Bard shuts the door tightly and locks it once everyone is inside.

Sigrid, who is even more lovely in person, embraces Bard. "Father, there you are! I was worried, I - who's this?" She looks at you in surprise. You wave.

"In a moment." Bard pats Tilda's head and nods to Bain. "Get them in."

You lean over the banister next to Sigrid to watch the lovely sight of the company emerging from the loo. Dwalin growls, "If you speak of this to anyone, I'll rip your arms off!"

You chuckle.

"Da, why are there Dwarves climbing out of our toilet?" Sigrid is becoming increasigly confused.

"Will they bring us luck?" asks Tilda hopefully.

Bard distributes blankets and dry clothes to the very unhappy company. Sigrid starts a kettle of tea. You try to help her even though you've never made tea in your life.

"Oh, you don't have to," she protests.

"I want to, really!"

"But you're a guest - a _lady_ guest - "

"How long have you known Da?" Tilda asks. "Are you an elf? Are you from the forest?"

"Since earlier today, yes, and no, in that order."

"Da says the elves make the Master rich. Do you have loads of gold at home?"

"_Tilda_!" Sigrid exclaims, her cheeks coloring. "Stop bothering the lady!"

"No, it's okay! It's been a long time since I've seen another girl." You sit on the bench to be closer to Tilda's level. "I actually don't have loads of gold at home. Don't really have a home, either. I've got fifteen coins to my name, all of which I've won from bets, and the clothes on my back."

"Why are you with so many Dwarves?"

"They're my friends. We're on a quest."

Tilda's eyes light up. "A quest?"

You glance around. Balin is telling the story of Girion and the black arrow. You still have some time before you may be called on to defuse things. "It's a secret quest, so I can't tell you much about it. But your Da is helping us. He's a very good man, your Da. I'm glad to have met him."

Tilda giggles and runs away like you've just bestowed upon her a very juicy secret. Sigrid heaves a sigh and retrieves cups from the cabinet for the tea. "You'll be in for it now."

You grab several more. "What do you mean?"

"She tries to set Father up with any woman that looks at him long enough. It's her favorite game, to find him a new wife. She craves a mother, I suppose. I'm not much of one, though I've done what I could - but I shouldn't trouble you with that," she finishes guiltily.

"Don't be sorry." You take the steaming kettle from her. "I know you've done the best you could, and it's been enough."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"Are you a sorceress?"

"Not quite. And as for Tilda's game - it would be an honor to catch your father's eye, but I think he and I both have bigger things to worry about at the moment."

And at the moment, Bard's worry is the Dwarves' rejection of his weapons. But he seems pensive, so he must have moved past the snub and come to realize just who he's hosting. You quickly follow him out when he exits. "Bard, wait!"

Bard pauses only briefly. "My lady. Excuse me, there is an errand I must run."

"I know." You run to catch up to him. "You heard Thorin's name and now you're going to check it against the tapestry."

This effectively halts Bard. He stares at you in shock. "How did you know?"

"Are you ready for that explanation I promised?"

Bard leads you to a tiny nook in a less populated part of the town to ensure the conversation will remain private. You're not quite sure how to start that conversation, so you get right down to it: "I have the elvish gift of foresight and that's Thorin son of Thrain."

"Thorin son of Thrain," Bard repeats wonderingly. "The Lord of Silver Fountains..."

"The King of Carven Stone. The King Beneath the Mountain shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness at the Mountain-King's return. But all shall fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn," you finish.

"Then the prophecy has come true? He intends to enter the mountain? Does he not know what slumbers there?!"

You nod slowly, gazing at Bard, wondering how best to delve into the topic of utter destruction and ruin. You know that Bard is an honest man, true and pure and uncomplicated in a way that only Bilbo could rival. You decide he deserves the truth. "Would you like it?" you ask. "The truth, I mean. I'll tell you everything if that's what you want."

"Yes. Tell me everything."

"If you say so. The truth is this: I've seen everything that's going to happen on this quest - or what _would've_ happened had I not joined to change a few things. I knew we would meet you, and I was excited, because I know what a good man you are. You're hardworking, loyal, and kind, and that's why you'll soon be lord of Lake Town."

"Me?" Bard blinks, then shakes his head. "That's not possible. You must be wrong."

"I'm never wrong! But here's a bit more truth: Smaug is going to destroy Lake Town when he wakes."

"_When_ he wakes?!"

"What, you thought thirteen Dwarves and a hobbit could be that quiet? Yes, Smaug will be woken, and he will come to Lake Town, and you will kill him with the black arrow that's conveniently hanging in the rafters in your kitchen."

"How did you - "

"Foresight, remember?"

"If entering the mountain is what wakes Smaug, then we must stop him!"

Bard rises with purpose, but you grab a handful of his shirt. "Don't bother. They've probably left by now."

"Left?" He glares at you. "You were meant to stall me!"

"No, that's not it! Just sit down and listen. They're going to the armory, they'll get caught anyway. Please, listen."

Bard unwillingly sits back down.

"I'm telling you all of this because maybe you can get some people to evacuate and lessen the death toll."

His expression goes from one of resentment to one of bewilderment. "That's it? You told me all this to save lives?"

"Uh, yeah? What, you thought I was in it for myself? What good or bad would it do me for people to die? You people really need to work out your trust issues. I haven't told anyone anything without them getting all suspicious about my motives."

"I apologize if I offended you, but in this age, it is wise to be wary of uncalled for kindness. I will do what I can to evacuate the town, but I fear they will not believe me. Perhaps if you come with me - "

You shake your head. "Can't. It was just a heads-up. Whether they choose to believe you or not isn't something I can help you with.

"Then why tell me?!"

"I thought you should know what's coming so you could be better prepared. I just wanted to help you as much as I could. You deserve it."

Bard's irritation cools in the face of your softness. "It must be hard," he murmurs, "knowing things before they happen and having to deal with stubborn, ignorant mortals."

"It is," you sigh. "At first it was fun, but as things have progressed..."

"At least you use your knowledge for the greater good. There are many in this world who would abuse such a power."

"Yeah, but you're not one of them. That's why I told you. Anyone can see that you're a good man, Bard, and soon you'll be a great one."

The night has fallen around you, and with it, snow. You look at the sky, surprised at how quickly the time has passed. "We should go," you say, standing up. "There's a meeting in the town square you'll want to be privvy to."

You urge Bard to hurry; damned if you're going to miss Thorin's majestic speech to the people of Lake Town. You arrive just in time for him to step forward at Dwalin's introduction. You slip into place beside Bilbo.

"I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake. This was the center of all trade in the North! I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the Dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the Halls of Erebor!"

You sigh dreamily. It's times like this when Thorin's inner king shines through for the world to admire. You know he'll be a great king one day very soon.

"Death!" Bard exclaims, shattering the moment as he pushes through the crowd. "That is what you will bring upon us! Dragon fire and ruin! When you waken that beast, it will destroy us all!"

Thorin remains uncharacteristically calm in the face of Bard's accusations. "You can listen to this naysayer but I promise you this: if we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!"

"All of you! Listen to me! You must listen!" Bard is desperate now. You wonder if you made a mistake telling him of Smaug before this moment. "Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm?! And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a Mountain King so riven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!"

But it's too late. The Master's desire for gold causes him to side with Thorin. The people of Lake Town cheer, lost in fantasies of prosperity. Thorin, too, is full of a sort of inner light. It's both beautiful and tragic, for you know that the darkness only grows from here.


	13. Twist

DON'T YOU LOVE THAT FEELING WHEN SHIT GETS REAL? :D Silly you, don't you know you're not supposed to drop earth-shattering revelations about the future on limited mortals? You're breakin' all the rules of future knowledge, man!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You gaze out over Lake Town from Bard's balcony, mind heavy with the knowledge of things to come. It gets tricky from here - you knew that coming in - but with all the friendships you've developed and feelings that have grown, you find it hard to discern what course of action will end up being best for everyone involved.

The door opens and shuts behind you. Thorin's deep voice says, "You should come inside. It's cold out here."

It is, but the temperature doesn't bother you. "I like the quiet," you respond.

He joins you by the railing. "You are troubled."

"How could you tell?"

"Is it something I should know?"

"I'm not sure you'd believe me."

Thorin actually smiles. "You've been right every time before, and you don't think I would believe you?"

"It's just that things will be difficult soon - between Smaug and the gold and the fight - and...well, I'm wondering if it might be best for me to stay in Esgaroth when you leave for Erebor."

"Stay in Esgaroth?" Thorin stares at you. "But you swore we would all make it to Erebor! Why would you stay?"

"I'll come along eventually, but there are matters here that need to be attended to...but I don't like the thought of letting you enter the Mountain alone..."

"What happens here that is more important?"

"Smaug happens. He's going to destroy Lake Town."

Thorin glowers in the direction of the Mountain. "Not if we destroy him first."

"Thorin - "

"Come with us to Erebor. We will find a way to kill Smaug. Then when the Mountain is free, you may have your pick of the treasure."

"Treasure?" You blink, confused. "I was never part of that deal, remember?"

Thorin smiles slightly. "And do you not think you have earned some reward?"

You shrug. "Keeping you alive will be reward enough."

"Then what _do_ you want, if not gold?"

You stare up at the starry sky. There was one faint hope you'd nurtured when thinking about the future, but you never put much stock in it until now. "The one thing I do want," you say quietly, "is to be allowed to stay in Erebor with you."

Thorin's eyebrows shoot up. "With me?"

You blush but continue to cover yourself. "I want to explore every tunnel and cave. I want to learn Khuzdul and how to use an axe. I know most people won't take kindly to an elf living in Dwarf lands, but you asked what I want, and that is my answer."

"Your purity of heart never ceases to amaze me," Thorin murmurs after a moment. "That is all you would ask? To live with me in Erebor?"

"That's all I want."

"Then you shall have it, and Mahal help whoever says a cross word about it."

Overcome with emotion, you launch yourself at Thorin. He stiffens in your arms, but as you hug him he slowly relaxes. You expect him to be the first to pull away. He isn't. He allows you to hold him to your heart's content, which is several minutes. You wonder how long it's been since he's been held like this, and if it's doing as much for him as it is for you.

"I want you to know that everything I have done and will do is in your best interest," you mumble.

"That much is clear, if you've braved weather and darkness and spiders and goblins just to keep me alive," he replies, amused.

"Just remember that...never forget..."

Thorin peers up at you. "There is still something on your mind, isn't there?"

"Yes, but it's nothing you can help with."

"I could try."

You laugh, and you're horrified when it comes out watery. This detail does not escape Thorin's notice. He immediately frowns and tried to get a better view of your face through the dark. "Tell me what it is," he orders.

"You trust my foresight?"

"At this point, I would be a fool not to."

"Gold sickness," you whisper brokenly. Thorin's expression darkens. "I know you don't want to hear about it, but that's what's on my mind."

"I am not my grandfather," he says ironly.

"I know. You're stronger than him. You will be yourself again. But I'll miss you until then. I've been racking my brains to think of a way around it - everything with Erebor is war and politics and a pain in the ass - but it just has to play out like that whether I like it or not."

"This is the second time you've mentioned fighting. Who is our enemy? Is it Azog?"

"Azog, and Bolg, and Thranduil, and the Men of Lake Town."

"So many!" he exclaims. "How does it come to that?"

You shake your head. "That is not a burden you need to bear presently."

Thorin pulls you back as you move to go inside. "I will bear it," he says firmly. "You've borne it all this time - "

"And it's hasn't been a walk in the park!"

"Regardless. Tell me what happens once we get to Erebor. If you cannot prevent it, perhaps I can."

Gazing at the Dwarf before you, the future king forged of bravery and strength and kindness, brings tears to your eyes. No amount of rewatchings or fanfiction or gif sets or headcanons or fanart or dreams could have ever prepared you for being in his company, and more, his confidence. None of it could have prepared you for the tumult of emotions you'd experienced from a fantasy world made real, from fictional characters brought to life. Now Thorin is living and breathing and _real_ in front of you, asking you to help him prevent what would have been his downfall, and you can hardly speak past the all-consuming love you feel for him.

"Now, none of that." Thorin scrubs a rough thumb across your cheek, and you realize the tears have spilled over. "Tell me what happens."

You sigh heavily and let it all out. "The gold consumes you. You are not yourself at all. You become cruel and obsessed and untrusting. You refuse to honor your word of gold to the Men of Lake Town. Thranduil's after the gems of Lasgalen, and obviously you refuse that as well. Dain answers your call to war, and all of them almost fight it out, but then Azog and his army arrives. You do come to your senses and join them, but then on Ravenhill - on Ravenhill, you and Fili and Kili - "

"Say no more," Thorin pleads hoarsely.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you - "

"You are sure of this? Beyond a doubt, you are sure?"

"Beyond a doubt."

"And yet you would follow me through cowardice and dishonor? Knowing this, you followed me still - you would have saved me still - "

"Always."

Thorin is pale in the face of what he will become. "It must not come to pass," he near-whispers. "This terrible fate must be changed."

"But how? I've come at it a hundred different ways, said a thousand different things, but I can't see how I can change anything."

"Alone, perhaps you cannot. That is why you must help me to never become the man you described."

You stare up at him. "_Help_ you...?"

"Keep me in my senses, at least through the battle - by any means necessary."

"But you won't listen!" you exclaim. "You're already stubborn, but when the gold sickness consumes your mind - "

"You must _make_ me listen. Tell me this story again, shout at me, threaten me, draw your sword - whatever it takes to see that I remain myself. Promise me you will do this!"

"I - I promise," you stammer, taken aback by his sudden intensity.

"Good. Now it is your honor on the line as well as mine." Thorin stares darkly at the ground for a moment, then turns to go inside. "Remember, Aniel: _whatever_ it takes."

The door swings shut behind him, leaving you with a cold feeling completely independent of the chill night air.

\


	14. Waking the Dragon

Alright, let's hear it for chapter 14 and the end of DOS! It also might be the end of movie-accurate quotes, seeing as BOFTA isn't out on DVD just yet, unless I can find the transcript online. If I can't, I'll do my best to recreate it from memory. Anyway, thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all the reviews. It's your feedback and my obsessive nature that keeps this train rolling!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You try to net a few hours of sleep, for you know that the next twenty-four ahead will be brutal. It's hard to calm down enough to do so, but Thorin's determination to never even succumb to gold sickness is enough of a comfort to take a bit of the load off your mind.

Bilbo notices your fatigue the next morning. "Are you alright?" he asks, kind as ever.

"Oh, don't worry about me. Your big moment is coming up."

He makes a face. "You needn't remind me."

"Don't worry. You'll be brilliant." You pat him on the shoulder. He doesn't look very encouraged.

The Master gives the company a glamorous send-off, complete with new clothes, weapons, and a boat. The townspeople cheer as you load onto the boat.

"Not you," Thorin says, blocking Kili. "We must travel at speed. You will slow us down."

"What are you talking about? I'm coming with you." Kili smiles like he thinks - hopes - it's a joke.

"Not now."

"I'm going to be there when that door is opened! When we first look upon the Halls of our Fathers! Thorin - "

And Thorin melts into kindness like he is prone to do when confronted with his nephews. "Kili, stay here. Rest. Join us when you're healed."

Oin volunteers to watch after Kili, but Kili is inconsolable. You sit by him briefly and take his hand. "It's important you stay," you say soothingly to him.

"But I can do it, I can make the trip - "

"Kili, don't you trust me?"

Those sad brown eyes bore desperately into yours, and he nods in defeat. "How can I not?"

"Good." You lean in closer and whisper, "Tauriel will come for you."

"What? Tauriel - ?"

You jump up, leaving Kili with that silver lining. By this time Fili has also elected to stay behind; his fair face is creased with worry for his younger brother. "You said he would be fine," he mumbles, looking over your shoulder at Kili.

"He will be. It's good you're staying with him. He'll need you."

"Then I will be here."

"I'll see all of you in Erebor tomorrow evening, I promise."

"Aniel, come on!" Thorin barks.

You give Fili an encouraging smile and board the boat. The band strikes up a jolly, slightly off-key tune, and slowly the wooden town on the lake is enveloped in mist. The fog all around creates an eerie, lonely atmosphere that makes you draw into yourself. To break the silence, you murmur softly, "Home is behind, the world ahead..."

"What was that?" Bilbo inquires. Several other heads turn in curiosity.

"Just a song I was thinking of."

"Let's have it, then," Balin invites. "A bit of song might shake this drear."

You sing the whole of the song you know so well. Even Thorin's head tilts slightly to listen. They're quiet after the last note dissipates over the small waves. You're not sure if it did any good; though the song spoke of fading mists and shadows, your bones are still weighed down by the melancholy weather. Then again, that might just be a by-product of the fears still lurking in your heart.

The boat scrapes against the gravel shore. You look up and up and up to the peak of the Lonely Mountain. In better weather it would be a grand, inspiring sight; currently it is an imposing peak against a cold sky. You stare at it for most of the walk, contemplating Smaug and gold and politics, until a new sight catches your eye.

"What is this place?" asks Bilbo, voice appropriately quiet.

Balin answers, "It was once the city of Dale. Now it is a ruin - the desolation of Smaug."

You would have smiled - you love it when they say movie titles during the movie - but this is not a movie and you're in no mood for amusement. The once proud city of Dale stands silent and empty, a ghost in and of itself. Oddly, it gives you hope, even if it's just an ember. You fancy Dale restored and bustling with life once more as the former residents of Lake Town rebuild their lives there. That would mean all went well with the events to come.

"Come," Thorin murmurs to you. You shake off the reverie and start walking.

"Wait," Bilbo says. "Is this the Overlook? Gandalf said to meet him here."

"He's busy," you say almost absently. "He won't make it. We're on our own."

"But he said on no account were we to enter the Mountain without him - "

You finally come all the way out of the clouds and smile at Bilbo. "We did well enough in Mirkwood, didn't we? Or _you_ did, I should say. Gandalf will be along later, but right now your moment of glory awaits."

"Glory," he grumbles. "For all your talk, I had better come out in a golden cart drawn by silver horses!"

"Well, you'll never know unless we get there!"

You mill around until Bilbo points out the stairs; you didn't want to steal his thunder there, because you would do it at the door. You and Bilbo form a team to tackle the Dwarves of olds' ridiculous idea of "stairs". You help him across the larger gaps, and in return he keeps you from looking down at the death drop below. It's an exhausting and nerve-wracking climb, but at last you reach solid ground once more.

"This must be it. The hidden door." Thorin pulls out the key. "Let all those who doubted us rue this day!"

Your heart is constricted with emotion at Thorin's victory - small in the grand scheme of things, but huge for him. He's so proud and majestic in the dying light of the last day of autumn. You have the urge to hug him like you had at Lake Town.

"The last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole..." Thorin mutters, surveying the blank expanse of rock.

"Give it a minute," you say. "The last light is the moon, not the sunset." You felt it necessary to point this out, for it would be cruel to make him suffer needless heartbreak.

"You're sure? This is our only chance..."

You respond with a _look_, and he nods curtly.

The company collectively holds its breath when the sun sinks completely below the horizon. Even you become impatient, tapping your toe as you wait for the clouds to reveal the moon. Finally, _finally_, the silver light of the first moon of winter splays across the sheer rock face, illuminating the key-hole. No one speaks as Thorin slips the key into its home. A deep lock clicks. Thorin presses against the rock, and a square slab of stone gives way, opening Erebor for the first time in decades.

Thorin steps over the threshold and runs his fingers over the smooth walls of his home. "Erebor," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "I know these walls. These halls. This stone. You remember it, Balin. Chambers filled with golden light..."

"I remember," Balin says gruffly. You figure it's okay for you to cry since he's long gone.

The company files into the corridor with the reverence of entering a sanctuary. There's a picture carved above the door. You mouth the words along with Gloin: "'Herein lies the Seventh Kingdom of Durin's Folk. May the Heart of the Mountain unite all Dwarves in defense of this home.'"

"And what's that above the throne?" Bilbo asks.

"The Arkenstone," Balin says, awed.

"Arkenstone. And what's that?"

"That, Master Burglar, is why you are here," Thorin says.

"Ah-_huh_. Well. I supposed I'd better get to it, then..." Bilbo swallows hard and glances at you. You smile reassuringly and hope your confidence is of some encouragement.

Balin escorts Bilbo further down the hall. You admire the smoothness of the stone with your fingertips more than your eyes, since the corridor is rather dark.

Thorin moves to stand by you. "Why are you crying?" he asks in a low voice.

"Because I'm happy. We're finally here. You're finally home."

He shakes his head. "I still do not understand your heart."

"Maybe one day you will. But presently, we've got a dragon to deal with."

"Bilbo shouldn't waken it, if he is as light on his feet as Gandalf claimed."

"I've already told you, he _will_ wake Smaug."

"You could be wrong."

"Wrong!" you exclaim indignantly. Your voice echoes down the hall.

"Oh, keep your voice down."

"Wrong," you grumble. "Would you like to bet on that?"

Thorin casts you an amused look. "I am not a fool."

"Too bad. I could've gotten a nice stash of gold to furnish my apartment."

"You really want to stay here, then?"

"Didn't we already establish that?"

"I suppose I'm just surprised. You could go anywhere in Middle Earth, but you would choose to stay here."

"That's because this place has one thing even the finest hall lacks. Can you guess?"

"I could not guess even one of your thoughts."

"The stubborn, stubborn Dwarf I pledged my undying allegiance to."

"So it is true," he muses. "You would follow me until the end."

"Don't sound so surprised. I promised I would."

"You have promised many things, and each of them you have kept. I am...glad to have you with me, especially now."

"Coming from you, that means more than I can say."

Thorin fully grins. The sight is more stunning a meteor shower. "You put too much store in me," he chuckles.

"Probably," you say easily, reclining against a stone to wait for the fireworks. "But you've earned it."

As quickly as it came, the grin fades. "I should like to continue earning your good faith," he murmurs.

Your stomach drops unpleasantly at the indirect mention of things to come. "Don't talk about it," you beg. "It's already eating away at me. I need someone to be optimistic."

"Then you are out of luck, because I was relying on you to look on the bright side."

"We should _both_ look on the bright side," you say firmly. "I'll believe that you'll try your hardest to resist and you trust that I only have your best interests at heart and everything will be fine."

"It is hard for me to trust, but I do trust you. After everything, it is impossible not to."

"And after everything, I know that once you set your mind to something, nothing can stop you."

"A kinder way of calling me stubborn?"

"I'd go with determined over stubborn, but only in this one instance."

The banter has improved your mood enough to chase the clouds of uncertainty away for a while. You admire the slopes of the mountain under the silvery light of the moon. When you imagine doing the same once Erebor is rebuilt and danger has passed, you feel almost calm.

"What are you thinking?" Thorin asks quietly.

"About the future," you respond softly. "The near future, even though it seems far away. You've given me hope enough to be excited. I can't wait to see Erebor returned to glory, Dale rebuilt, and you as rightful king."

"And do you think I will make a good king?"

You look at him fondly. "I think you will make a great king. I would go so far as to say legendary."

"Legendary! Now you're teasing."

"I would never tease you! Okay, yes I would, but not over such a serious matter, my king."

Thorin falls silent at the honorific and gazes at you impassively. You feel his eyes on you long after you close yours for a nap.

A rumbling in the ground jolts you out of the twilight area of almost-sleep. For a split second you have no idea what's going on.

"Was that an earthquake?"

Balin shakes his head grimly. "That, my lad, was a dragon."

"Told you," you say to Thorin.

"Should we go in?" he asks.

"Nah, give him a bit more time."

"More time?" Balin looks at you. "Time to do what, be killed?"

"Bilbo is fine. But if we go in too soon, we might be extra crispy."

You gauge it the best you can without knowing what's going on in Lake Town as reference. Thorin leads the way through the memorized corridors. The dark hall finally opens up into a vast room, the floor of which is feet-deep gold. You gasp in spite of yourself. You cannot begin to fathom the wealth, not in standards of your world or this one.

The pitter-patter of bare feet nears, and Bilbo comes huffing around the corner. You beam at him.

"You're alive!" Thorin seems shocked.

"Not for much longer!" Bilbo pants.

"Did you find the Arkenstone?"

"The dragon's coming."

"The dragon's coming," you repeat firmly, grabbing Thorin's shoulder. "Arkenstone later, survival now."

Thorin dithers, torn between the first tingle of gold sickness and wanting to do right by you. His hesitation allows Smaug to creep up in the distance. Your eyes widen when you see him, the embodiment of fire and death. You try to warn Thorin past the fear blocking your throat.

Thorin sees Smaug just in time; everyone leaps from the landing into the ocean of gold. Thorin takes the lead to the western guard room. You don't mind the slight detour. You would have told him to go straight for the forges, but you felt like this was the last time anything would go by the script again, and you wanted to give up control just once more.

The room is filled with mummified corpses in positions that reflect the terror of their final moments. Balin surveys the scene with sorrow. "That's it, then," he says heavily. "There's no way out. The last of our kin. They must have come here, hoping beyond hope... We could try to reach the mines. We might last a few days..."

"No," Thorin says ironly. "I will not die like this - cowering, clawing for breath. We make for the forges."

"He'll see us, sure as death," Dwalin protests.

"Not if we split up."

"Thorin...we'll never make it." Balin says hopelessly.

"Some of us might. Lead him to the forges. We kill the dragon. If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together."

His words are steel, and they light a fire in your chest. _This_ is the Dwarf you swore to follow. Had you did not known how things would play out, you were still willing to burn with him.

The company splits into groups and takes turns distracting Smaug. It would be amusing if it weren't utterly terrifying, like bothering a giant cat with a laser pointer. Smaug does not find it funny either; he bellows a fireball just as you slide to safety. Thorin, only a little singed, urges the company on.

The forges of Erebor are a feat of engineering. While Dwalin and Balin worry about fire, you wonder where they ever _did_ find fire hot or big enough to light them. Then you remember that Thorin is about to taunt a dragon -

"I did not look to see you so easily outwitted!" he shouts in a tone that certainly would have incensed you. "You have grown slow and fat in your dotage, slug!"

You rub your face. "Thorin, why do you - "

"Take cover!"

You squeal and run to hide behind a pillar. The fire blast is terrible, unbearable - the metal heats beneath your skin - and just when you feel you must burst into flames as well, the blast ceases. The forges draw a great breath after being cold for so long.

Thorin assigns tasks to the others. You'd forgotten that they all had jobs - you stare after them as they run to their stations, at a loss for what to do.

Thorin answers solves that problem for you. "Come with me," he shouts, grabbing your arm.

"Where are we going?"

"To distract the dragon! I could not leave you to your own devices."

"Oh, right, so _naturally_ you bring me with you to stare down a flying inferno!"

Over the clanging of the failing gate and the forges' roar, you could swear you hear Thorin laugh.

Smaug breaks through the gate and slithers through the high-ceilinged chamber, looking for his prize. You cower behind Thorin when his gaze falls on the two of you. Smaug holds his attack. He tilts his head and stares at you. Then he rumbles a chuckle. "Well, well, an elf and a Dwarf. What an unlikely pair."

Thorin draws his sword.

"Tell me, elfling...did you expect to die tonight?"

The culmination of almost a year of living with Thorin's attitude comes out in two words: "Did _you_?"

Smaug's scales glow with internal fire. Thorin gives his cue, and Bilbo unleashes a flood that quenches the inferno temporarily.

While Smaug is distracted with the flash-flame, Thorin grabs your shoulders. "Go with Bilbo," he tells you. "Lead Smaug to the Gallery of Kings. I will meet you there!"

You nod and dodge the flailing dragon to reach Bilbo's position. Smaug's tail crashes into the raised platform, causing it to crumble. Bilbo rolls off safely. You help him up and the two of you run.

"I told you you'd do great!" you shout.

"Great?! If this was your expectation all along, I am insulted!"

"You shouldn't be - I think I'm the only one who even expected you to come back!"

Smaug bursts through the wall behind you, loosing the massive tapestries and covering you in a heavy heap of cloth. You and Bilbo crawl out from under the suffocating blanket to see Smaug, furious and great, in the moonlight coming through the front gate.

"You think you can deceive me, Barrel-rider?" he roars. "You have come from Lake-town! This is some sordid scheme hatched between these filthy Dwarves and those miserable tub-trading Lakemen! Those sniveling cowards with their long bows and Black Arrows! Perhaps it is time I paid them a visit!"

"Oh, no," Bilbo gasps. He runs towards Smaug before you can stop him and shouts, "This isn't their fault! Wait! You cannot go to Lake Town!"

"You care about them?" he almost purrs. "Good. Then you can watch them die!"

The voice you were waiting for echoes across the chamber. "Here! You witless worm!"

Smaug freezes. "_You._"

You and Bilbo run to watch the scene unfold. Thorin stands atop the great mold, completely fearless as he faces down Smaug.

"I am taking back what you stole."

"You will take nothing from me, Dwarf," Smaug hisses. "I laid low your warriors of old. I instilled terror in the hearts of Men. _I_ am King Under the Mountain!"

"This is not your kingdom! These are Dwarf lands. This is Dwarf gold. And we will have our revenge!"

The mold explodes away, revealing the wondrous golden statue. Smaug is mesmerized. You pull Bilbo up out of the midway just in time for the molten gold to lose its shape and thunder down the hall in a burning yellow river. Smaug bellows in pain, for the temperature must be hot even for him. He disappears under the new lake. The Dwarves and Bilbo cheer, but you are already running towards the exit -

Smaug resurfaces, writhing with rage and hurt. "Revenge?! _Revenge?!_" he roars. "I will show you _revenge!_"

He barrels through the gate like it is nothing and soars off into the night, leaving a shower of cooled golden flakes in his wake. In the distance lies the unsuspecting Lake Town, its lights glimmering like a beacon to draw its doom.

Bilbo skids to a halt beside you. He takes in his awful scene and whispers, "What have we done?"

* * *

[muffled _mmm whatcha say_ playing in the background]


	15. Trials

ARE YOU GUYS READY TO ROCK? I mean, sure, there's some romantic stuff, but WHO CARES ABOUT THAT WHEN WE HAVE A BATTLE TO FIGHT, AM I RIGHT?

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The company watches in helpless silence as Smaug incinerates Lake Town. Screams can be heard in the distance, along with explosions and collapsing buildings. Though your heart is pricked for the unfortunate souls, you can't quite cry for them; everyone you know and care about makes it out alive.

"Should we go back?" Thorin asks you quietly.

"No. It won't do them any good."

"But Kili and Fili - and Bofur and Oin - "

"They'll be along tomorrow evening. Or _this_ evening, I guess, since I'm sure it's after midnight."

"You were right," he says heavily. "As was the bargeman. We brought ruin down upon them."

"It'll be fine. Bard will take care of Smaug before sunrise. I'm going back inside - I don't want to watch this."

You turn and head back towards the destroyed gate. Thorin catches up with you. The two of you walk in silence, but the closer you draw to the Mountain, the more heavily the future weighs on your mind.

"Have we come to it at last?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"I stand by what I said before. I would have you at least save my honor, even over my life."

"I'll do both," you say firmly. "Give me your word that you will trust me, and we can make it through this."

"I give you my word."

"Good. I'm glad you trust me, because from here on out, we're basically ripping up the last chapter and writing our own."

"That's no trouble to me. Anything to prevent the fate you spoke of."

You pause, then admit quietly, "I'm scared, Thorin. I'm _terrified_."

"Do not be afraid. You are with me."

And with him you are: you do not leave Thorin's side through the night and next day. You become his shadow, always trailing after him, mostly silent but speaking when you sense the gold clouding his mind. Thorin does an incredible job of listening to you. You wonder if he's fighting it hard, or if foreknowledge has acted like an inoculation.

The group from Lake Town arrives the next evening as expected. You hear the shouts of greeting from one of the many rooms and run to meet them. You hug Kili first and hardest, glad to see him alive.

"Anything interesting to tell me?" you hint excitedly.

Kili bows low to you. "My most excellent lady, your are true once more. But I had to leave her behind, so I don't know if - "

"You'll see her again," you assure him. "Oh, I'm so happy for you!"

"It just occurred to me that you dress like her. Almost identical, in fact."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, I've been told."

"Esgaroth is destroyed," Fili reports grimly. "Smaug is dead, but the Men there have nowhere to go."

The reminder spurs you into action. You seek Bilbo atop the ramparts of the makeshift gate. He's sitting on a stone; he jumps when you approach and tucks something into his coat.

"It's okay, it's just me." You sit beside him. "How are you doing?"

"All things considered..." He trails off, then sighs. "I cannot stop thinking about Lake Town."

You hug the kind little hobbit. Bilbo is surprised by the gesture but returns it. "Don't be sad," you murmur into his caramel hair. "That was one bit of destiny we couldn't change, but we're about the rock the boat."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It's certainly better than doing nothing. And to start the rocking, Master Burglar, I'm going to have to ask you for the Arkenstone."

Bilbo blinks but realizes _of course you knew_. He withdraws the jewel and places it in your hand. The translucent gem is naturally warm and contains galaxies within it. It's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.

"I probably should have said something earlier," Bilbo begins sheepishly, "but I was afraid to give it up to Thorin..."

"You did the right thing, Bilbo, as always. I'll look after it and him."

"Oh, yes, of course." There's something to his tone that makes you look back as you return inside, but with what you're about to deal with, you let it slide.

You collect Thorin from greeting the newcomers and lead him to an empty room. You sit in a dusty chair and say seriously, "We're about to have a talk."

He sits opposite you. "And here I thought I'd been doing well."

"You have been. You've done marvelously, Thorin. That's why I have something for you later. But first, the talk."

Thorin leans forward as though he's engaging in an intense political conversation. It's an ironic move, because things _are_ about to get political. You begin, "Lake Town is destroyed, but Bard killed Smaug. The people have elected him king."

Thorin nods for you to continue.

"They have nowhere to go, and winter is coming. Bard's going to call in your promise of enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over."

"And...I'm going to give it to them," he guesses from your stern expression.

"Yes, because I'd like to have Bard's good will for the battle. In fact, I'm going to handle all your political affairs for the near future."

"I am not a child," Thorin argues. "I can still tend to my own affairs."

"You may not be a child, but you are hard-headed and abrasive and hot tempered, and none of that's gonna fly right now. We need allies, Thorin, not two pissed-off armies camped in the lawn."

"I will not send you to parley in my stead, especially if the Elven-King is coming."

"Fine, you can come with me, but I will do most of the talking. And if you get grouchy - "

Thorin makes a noise of indignation.

" - If you get grouchy, you'll stay out of it completely, understand?"

"Fine."

"Good. Now that that's out of the way, I'm going to do something I'll probably regret."

You pull the Arkenstone out of your vest and set it on the table. Thorin instantly grabs it. "Where did you...?" he begins, awestruck.

"Bilbo found it. He was waiting for the right time to give it to you. I decided that that time is now, but you can't keep it."

Thorin's head snaps up. His eyes are menacingly dark as they blaze into yours.

"Thorin." You lay a hand on the rough ones clutching the jewel and speak gently. "The Arkenstone corrupted Thror and drove him mad. You know that. I would die before I let that happen to you. But I wanted you to see it and hold it for a bit, I guess as a sign that I am only working for your best interest. I will keep it safe, I promise."

Thorin's hand twitches beneath yours, and he lets the gem fall through his fingers. "Get it out of my sight," he mutters.

You quickly stow it away again, your heart full of pride for the decision he made all on his own. The room is silent now as Thorin broods on your words. You can't help but notice that your hand is still resting on his. You stare at this small detail for what seems like hours before you can work up the courage to do it: slowly, so as not to startle him, you lift his hand with yours and kiss the fingertips.

Thorin freezes completely and stares at you with wide eyes. You stare back at him like a deer in the headlights, probably because your face can't pick which emotion to express between embarrassment and adoration.

"Uncle, dinner's ready," Fili says, coming around the corner. You and Thorin jump a mile and stand up. Fili looks between the two of you with a raised eyebrow. You hurry to the main hall, from which the smell of dinner wafts.

Thorin sits beside you after claiming a bowl. You wonder if it's only to torment you over mere moments prior. He does not speak, however, though you do catch him throwing glances your way, and it's not at your face.

You lean over and whisper in his ear, "I'd be mad if I thought you were staring at my chest, but I know you're looking at the Arkenstone."

Thorin chokes on his soup. You clap your hand over your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing and quickly shovel in some of the broth. You notice Fili and Kili staring unashamedly at you. Bilbo is also looking, but he has the grace to lower his head when you catch him.

After dinner, you peruse a thick tome you borrowed from the library. You can't understand it, obviously, but there are enough illustrations to keep you interested. You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger as you "read".

"Aniel," Kili calls in a sing-song voice, dragging out the last consonant. You look up, and there he and his brother stand.

You squint at them. "You're up to something, aren't you."

"Us? Never!" Fili pretends to be offended.

"We were just thinking that you should do something with your hair to keep it out of your lovely eyes," Kili says brightly.

"Oh. Yeah, that'd be nice." You sweep your bangs back, mind on the battle. "Are there any ribbons around to tie it back with?"

"We've got something better." Fili produces a handful of little silver clasps.

"That'll be perfect. The braids will be atrocious, though - I can't braid my own hair to save my life."

"No worries. We've got you covered."

The brothers plop down on either side of you and get to work. You're paralyzed with shock. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" you squeak.

"We're just helping you out," says Kili innocently.

You decide it must be a prank of some sort. You know that they can't both fancy you - Kili has Tauriel, anyway. You leave them to it, but you can't quite relax, especially with the elder Dwarves shaking their heads knowingly at the boys' antics.

Thorin comes in from another hall and stops dead in his tracks when he registers the scene. You feel your face heat up with a blush. He is not immobile long; he marches straight up to the three of you and demands, "_What_ do you boys think you are doing?"

"Just helping Aniel, Uncle," Kili chirps. "She wanted her hair back, so we're doing it up for her."

Thorin growls something in Khuzdul that makes them scamper away, snickering. You yelp and grab the open ends of the braids before they can unravel. "They were doing a good job," you gripe, playing along with what you think is the game.

"Your hair is fine the way it is."

"I just didn't want it to be a bother during the fight."

Thorin seems to struggle with some internal conflict before he says gruffly, "Take those out and stand up. I'll do one right if it's that important to you."

You do so with a face ablaze and a hurricane of butterflies in your stomach. Thorin's rough fingers are deft as they lace your hair together. He weaves the top portion into a braid and clasps it, leaving the bottom loose. "There," he mutters, "now it won't be a bother."

"Th-Thank you. It's...nice."

Thorin makes a quick escape, possibly to go murder his nephews. You run your fingers over the smooth braid and stop at the cold silver bead keeping it all together. You would likely kill anyone who tried to remove it.

Your dreamless sleep is interrupted by a great commotion in the main hall. You drag yourself out of bed with your customary blanket cape to see what the fuss is about. Your half-awake brain suggests the possibility of an early orc attack, but you're too tired to get worked up about it.

"There are archers outside from Mirkwood!" Bilbo tells you when you arrive. "Er...did you just wake up?"

You yawn. "Yeah. Wish you guys wouldn't have shouted about it."

But perhaps being disturbed from slumber could be the best possible way to introduce you to the rising action; you can't bring yourself to either excitement or anxiety as you calmly gather a few chests, some rope, and straighten your outfit to look presentable. You do all of this unnoticed as the Dwarves rush to and fro, grabbing swords and bows and shields.

Thorin finally realizes that you're completely unaffected by the frenzy. "What are you doing?" he inquires, looking over the chests.

"Preparations. Did Bard come yet?"

"No. Did you just wake up?"

"Why, do I still look a wreck?"

"I believe it's your interesting choice of cape."

"Oh. Nice catch." You shrug the blanket off. "C'mon, let's go up and watch for Bard."

Thorin hesitates, then says, "You go."

"Come again?"

"I will trust you to parley on my behalf. But you must take at least two escorts with you."

You beam at him. "I won't disappoint you."

"I should say not, considering it's not only my life on the line if you do."

You select Balin and Fili to come with you. The three of you descend over the wall via rope and take the five chests to the tent where Bard and Thranduil meet.

"Aniel!" Bard is milling around outside the tent when he sees you. He jogs over and stares at you in shock. "What is all this?"

"A surprise," you say brightly. "I'm glad to see you again, King Dragon-slayer."

Bard shakes away the titles. "Come with me."

You follow Bard into the luxurious tent. Thranduil is lounging on his portable throne; he straightens instantly when you enter. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands.

"King Thranduil." You incline your head respectfully. "I'm sorry about our last meeting. It's nice to see you again."

"Is that why you escaped my kingdom along with your Dwarf friends?"

You let that slide. It's time to be professional. "Thorin sent me in his place to speak with you. I must say that I'm surprised to see such an, er, impressive ensemble."

"Are you, though?" Thranduil asks silkily. "Did you not know we would come?"

"Lake Town is in ruins, just as you said," Bard says. "I have led the survivors here to Dale to ask Thorin Oakenshield to honor his promise of gold enough to rebuild the town."

"And that's what these are for!" you reply cheerfully. Fili and Balin set down their loads. Each of the four fair-sized chests are filled with gold. Bard pales slightly upon seeing this. "Thorin sends these with his regards and apologies for your loss. It's just a fraction, of course. I'll explain why in a moment."

You move to Thranduil. His icy eyes scrutinize your every move. You say more formally, "I did say I wanted to return Lasgalen's gems to you."

You hand him the smaller chest. The light filtering through the threads of the tent reflects off the facets of the pure jewels. Thranduil is visibly entranced, but merely says, "The necklace is not here."

"You're right. And that is because I need your help."

"Help? What help do you think I would give you?"

"An army of orcs will be here tomorrow afternoon. They think they have the element of surprise, which is good for us. If we all work together, we can make short work of them. If not, they'll make short work of us."

"We have nowhere else to go," Bard realizes quietly. "We have many wounded from the attack, my lady, but those who are able will fight."

You smile at him. "Thank you, Bard."

"I'm not as convinced," Thranduil drawls. "Why should I risk the lives of my men here?"

"How bad d'you want that necklace?" you shoot back.

"You would extort me with that which is rightfully mine?"

"Yes, I would!" you shout, finally snapping. "If we fail tomorrow, what good will hiding in your forest do you? Evil will spread across the land, burn your forest, and destroy you all! You can't hide anymore!"

Thranduil rises slowly and towers over you. The flare of anger allows you to stand tall before him. "You are a child. You know nothing of war or survival."

"I know plenty about this war! You're supposed to fight with us! You have to! I only kept the necklace to give you incentive. I'll give it to you now if you promise to stay!"

Thranduil is still cold, but the faintest of curiosity sparks in his icy eyes. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Because I have not put up with rain, cold, trolls, goblins, orcs, spiders, dragons, and months without any basic comforts just for you to refuse to help me save that idiot in the mountain that I'm in love with!"

You realize what you said right after the words pass your lips. You clap a hand over your mouth. The entire tent is stunned into silence. Fili breaks it with a very quiet, "I _knew_ it!"

"_Love_," Thranduil sneers. "You know nothing of _love_, child."

You should have known that was coming - he pulls the same thing on Tauriel - but all the foreknowledge in the world can't stop you from seeing red. Without thinking, you draw your sword.

"That will not be necessary," a very different, very calm voice says.

It's enough of a surprise to get you to turn around. At the mouth of the tent stands Gandalf, a little worse for the wear, and Elrond himself.

"Lord Elrond?" You blink, dumbfounded. "I - you - you're not supposed to be here!"

"I did promise to do what what I could to aid you," he reminds you.

"But I never saw you here! If anything happens to you - "

"You needn't worry about that. Return to the Mountain, young one. I have things well in hand here."

You reluctantly sheath your sword and exit the tent. You realize on the walk back to the gate that your escorts are positively bursting. "Not. One. Word," you mutter.

"Congratulations!" Fili shouts, thumping you on the back.

"We may have seen it coming," Balin agrees, beaming. "I told the lads not to talk and spoil it - "

"Spoil it? Ugh!" You walk backwards to face them. "We're not courting! Thorin doesn't know how I feel! He probably doesn't even feel the same!"

"But why have you not told him?" Fili asks, genuinely confused.

"Because we're about to get _slammed by an orc army_, Fili!"

"But if you love him, you must tell him!"

You rub your forehead. "How would that look, an elf falling for a Dwarf?"

Fili shrugs. "Didn't stop Kili, did it?"

"That's different."

"Now listen, lass," Balin says kindly, "I daresay Thorin would be flattered at the very least to know your feelings for him."

"I'd rather jump off the peak," you grumble. "And don't you say one thing to him, either! We've got bigger things to focus on than a romantic subplot!"

Thorin is waiting on the ramparts when you climb up. "How did it go?" he asks at once.

"Well, the good news is that we have allies and then some. The bad news is that I almost stabbed Thranduil."

"I fail to see how that is bad news," he chuckles. "And what was it you said of my temper?"

You roll your eyes. "Have you sent a raven to Dain yet?"

"Yes, I called for Dain. Will he come?"

"He'll come. I look forward to meeting him if he doesn't run his war pig over me first."

The armory is raided in preparation for the coming battle. You smile from your position among the breastplates when you see Thorin give Bilbo the mithril shirt. You browse the armor a little longer before giving up. Everything in the armory was made to fit stout Dwarves, not your tall, lean frame. You suppose you'll just have to be extra careful during the fight.

Thorin bars you from leaving with his arm. "You may be immortal, but you are not impervious," he scolds.

"Nothing will fit me. It's fine, I'll just do my best not to get hit."

He shakes his head. "That's not good enough."

"Thorin, I've got other things to think about, can we not - "

Thorin drags you back inside and spends at least half an hour rifling through the stock of armor. The result is hilariously mismatched bracers and a pair of Dwarven boots. Thorin is frustrated by the lack of variety.

"It's fine," you say soothingly.

"The mail and helm will fit you," he insists.

"The mail is three sizes too big across and my head rattles in the helm!"

"At least take a shield."

It's a reasonable request. You choose one inlaid with silver. It feels good in your hands. Thorin is placated enough to allow you to leave the armory.

You seek solitude in one of the many empty rooms. You withdraw from your vest your original planning sheet. The charcoal is blurred and the paper has been soaked and dried, but the essence of the ideas remain. You gaze at it, hoping it will somehow give you a fresh angle or new hope with which to face the battle, but it simply sits on the table, telling you nothing more than what you told it.

You close your eyes and replay Ravenhill over and over, looking for ways to prevent the three unacceptable casualties. It's simple with Kili and Fili - they just have to stay with the group - but with Thorin...as usual, Thorin is the hardest. You make up your mind to go with him to the frozen waterfall and quite literally follow him until the end.

You lay your head on the table, willing to go to sleep if it means quieting your mind. Your body obliges your request quickly, thrilled to have extra time to rest. You wake naturally some time later to find yourself on your bedroll in the main hall. Sunrise's first rays illuminate a silhouette on the ramparts. You wrap yourself in your blanket and climb the stairs to stand beside him.

Thorin is gazing out over the land that will soon be littered with corpses. "We've come to it at last," he murmurs.

"Yeah...guess we have..." You glance over at his proud and currently worried profile. "I want you to know that whatever happens out there, this journey has been more than I could ever have wished for."

He finally looks at you. "Are you saying goodbye?"

"No. You're not dying today, remember?"

"And you?"

You shrug. "Didn't plan on it."

"But plans change," he realizes quietly.

"Just don't be stupid, okay? Don't take any unnecessary risks and make my job harder. Worry about yourself and absolutely murder Azog when the time comes."

He smiles grimly. "That I can do."

Later in the morning, you descend over the wall to meet with Elrond again. He receives you with a small smile. "We've placed archers high in the rocks," he tells you. "It will give us the height advantage. The rest are prepared to intercept the orcs."

"Thank you for coming," you say sincerely. "This will be so much easier now. All that's left is..."

"I have no doubt that you will succeed in keeping him alive," Elrond says kindly.

"I have to, don't I?" you sigh. "I've come all this way, can't very well fail now."

"After this is over, you are welcome to return to Rivendell any time you like. Perhaps I can teach you your native language."

"Thanks, that's - oh!" You blush. "Thranduil told you, didn't he? But I would like that, to learn elvish. I've got sixty years to do it, after all..."

"Sixty years," he echoes. "The second time you've mentioned such a stretch."

"Let's just deal with the present, shall we?"

You return to the Mountain before the finale. Everyone is restless. You approach Bilbo, who's staring thoughtfully at Sting's blade. "You ready?" you ask.

"I'm sure you already know the answer to that."

"D'you regret taking me in yet?"

"No, I can't say that I do." Bilbo looks up at you with a wan smile. "You can ask me after the fight, though. My answer might change."

You laugh. "It has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life to know you, Bilbo Baggins."

"That's kind of you to say, but you sound so bleak! Are you saying goodbye to me?"

"No, don't worry! You survive the battle."

"Then why do you sound so sad?"

"The truth?"

"Of course!"

You lower your head. "Everyone in the company makes it through - Thorin and Fili and Kili, due to my sheer willpower. But it occurred to me that I never saw _myself_ live or die."

"Goodness!" Bilbo gasps. "But how can you not know your own fate?"

The answer to that question is simple: you were never supposed to interfere in the first place. You weren't even supposed to _exist_ in this world. But here you are, only hours away from your first great battle. "I will die for Thorin if need be," you whisper to your clasped hands. "I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to him."

"Then you must tell him! So much love cannot go unspoken!"

"Shh!" You look around frantically for anyone within earshot. "Put it out of your mind. I'm sure everything will be fine."

"You say that so often that I wonder if you truly believe it."

A terrible sound of shattering earth reaches your ears. The company looks up in alarm. You race up to the ramparts where Thorin already stands. The awful were-worms have eaten tunnels through the mountains across the way. Orcs pour from them like ants. You can hear their shrieks and clanking armor.

You look at Thorin for what could possibly be the last time. The high noon light illuminates his fine, proud features and glints off the silver streaks in his raven hair. You realize how different your love for him had become since your first meeting, or indeed since you last saw him on a screen. But this was not a movie. Had it ever been? It had been ages since you've thought of things as ever being anything but real. And, for better or for worse, your very real fate is about to be decided.


	16. Ravenhill

Heheheheh...luckily for y'all, this isn't the last chapter. I may be evil, but I'm not THAT evil. Enjoy, my lovelies~!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

With everything you love hanging in the balance, you've never been more ready to kick some ass.

You charge with Thorin and the company into the heat of battle. You take one enemy at a time, everything Dwalin taught you and things you picked up along the way now put to the test. Everyone else kills and moves on faster, not that it's a _race_; you're just trying to be careful and stay alive until the time comes to move to Ravenhill.

The archers are beautifully placed. Wave after wave of arrows rain down upon the battlefield, almost all of them hitting their marks. You can't quite tell, but you think that the orcs are surprised at the level of resistance they face. It gives you a surge of fierce pride and energy to know that it's all because of you. You defeat each foe with that much more enjoyment.

The hollow roars of creatures much larger than you tear across the battlefield. You wince and look up to see armored cave trolls pounding through the orc ranks. You hope the archers are paying attention; last you knew, it took the combined effort of nine people to kill one. And, of course, one is headed right in your direction.

You squeal and hit the deck to dodge its spiked club. The troll chases you, but it's large and slow, and you're much smaller and more agile. You suppose the best thing to do is stay close to it and try not to get stepped on or batted into next month.

With your daggers, you stab at its right leg. The troll howls in pain and tries to shake you off, but the daggers are up to the hilt in its thick skin, and you're not letting go. The troll takes off running, dragging you along behind.

"Ahh! No! Stop it!" You cling to the rough, foul-smelling limb. It's like a much more dangerous version of a child hanging on a parent's leg for a ride.

You get a firm grip on one of the spikes on the troll's armor and climb up its back. Your intention is that the view from its shoulders would be less terrifying and possibly safer. You are extremely mistaken. The elevation lets you see the warriors, both orc and Dwarf, dive out of the way of the rampaging troll.

How had they killed it? It was a well-aimed arrow to the throat from Legolas. You certainly do not have the angle to copy such a move. You improvise by embedding a hand axe in its skull with all your might. The troll goes ballistic with pain. You scream right along with it and try to use the axe buried in its nervous system to steer.

"Stop running! No, left! Left! Take me back to Thorin! But first go trample those orcs!"

You realize your unique position could be used to your advantage. Instead of immediately trying to kill or escape the troll, you goad it into squashing orcs. The troll runs at random across the field with you cackling evilly on its shoulders.

"Flee before me, mortals! I am the troll master! Fear my minion's blind flailing!"

But just as you begin to get comfortable with troll riding, your grotesque steed loses power. You suppose that yanking the axe lodged in its brain has taken its toll. The troll swerves and sways erratically before crashing to the ground. You tumble off and quickly grab your daggers before the awed orcs can think to attack you.

Thorin eventually fights his way over to you. "You told _me_ not to be reckless! I cannot _believe_ you would do something so dangerous!" he rants.

"It was an accident! Mostly! But look, I trampled orcs!"

"Do not leave my sight! I've got more important things to focus on than keeping up with you!"

"Keeping up with _me_?" You stab an orc with a flourish. "I'm the one babysitting _you_, remember?"

The adrenaline of the battle has you flying high. All fears and doubts have left your mind. You know Azog will be defeated and Thorin will live, and not one whispering insecurity can tell you otherwise.

"We could get going," you shout to Thorin. "We could finish this now."

Thorin's returning smile is radiant with the promise of long-awaited revenge. "I thought you'd never ask!"

Dain rounds up mountain goats for you, Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin. The goats' massive horns plow over anything and anyone in the way. The goats ascend the cliffs to the frozen waterfall. It's dizzying to look down, so you close your eyes until the ground is solid once more.

Everything is hyper realistic: the scenery is over-saturated with color, the wind is that much colder, and the silence on the peak has physical weight. Your moment of truth has arrived, and you are ready to tackle it head-on.

"Fili, Kili, go scout ahead," Thorin whispers.

"No," you say ironly. "Stay. I'll go."

"But - "

"Don't argue. This is what I came to do." Without a second thought, you enter the crumbling tower.

You move noiselessly through the dilapidated corridors, ears straining to catch the first sounds of Bolg's army. You don't go too deep; that was Fili's mistake, one you will not repeat. Finally you glimpse torch light from one of the tunnels. You waste no time in dashing back outside.

"Got it!" you announce breathlessly. "They're here. Get ready."

Azog appears at the top of the tower, but this time he has no prisoner to murder. You smirk triumphantly: two saved, one to go. Azog says something in Black Speak, probably a threat, and sends his army pouring out of the tower.

The five of you fight in a circle against the oncoming waves of Gundabad orcs. They're more ferocious than the ones on the plains, or perhaps you're just running out of steam. Still, you relish every time an enemy falls before your blade and use that to fuel you on.

Suddenly there are three new allies: out of nowhere, Bilbo, Tauriel, and Legolas join the fight. You'd forgotten all about them! Their aid makes the skirmish almost easy. Azog, dismayed by the growing enemy number, disappears from the tower. You watch him go and notice Thorin doing the same. You exchange looks. He nods.

"Hold them here!" you shout to your friends. "Whatever happens, do not enter that tower!"

Thorin and you barrel through the line of orcs, cutting them down when needed. Your heart pounds the closer you get to the frozen scene of the final battle. You refuse to think of anything other than victory.

Azog is already out on the ice. You and Thorin jump down, and you promptly slip.

Thorin steadies you. "I thought elves are supposed to be graceful," he quips.

You shoot him a dirty look. "Don't you have revenge to get?"

"Indeed." Thorin surveys Azog, who stands tauntingly alone, waiting. "Are you still resolved to fight with me?"

"Don't even try to send me away."

Thorin engages his lifelong foe. You pick off orcs on the fringe of things, giving Thorin his space but always keeping a close eye on him. Suddenly an arrow sticks in the eye of an orc to your left. You wheel around to see Legolas sniping from on high. You wave wildly at him in thanks before returning to work.

Azog delivers a particularly violent blow with his new boulder-mace. Thorin rolls to avoid it and is stuck on the ground. You cannot resist intervening; the sight of Thorin on the defensive makes your stomach lurch. While Azog is distracted, you build up momentum by slip-running towards him. You ready your sword to maybe cut off another limb -

Azog sees you at the pivotal moment. He swings the boulder at you with a roar. You have only enough time to lift your shield and close your eyes.

The boulder connects with the shield with a resonating _gong_. You fly backwards on the slippery ice at tremendous speed, unable to stop or slow down.

"ANIEL!"

You realize why Thorin is yelling one second later when you slide over the edge of the waterfall.

You scream on the descent, terror filling your mind as the ledge above grows more and more distant. You claw at the smooth ice wall and find no purchase. Now Thorin is alone up there with Azog, and he will die, and all your work will be for nothing.

_No_ \- !

You plung your daggers up to the hilt in the thick ice wall. The ice splinters and cracks as the daggers tear through it, slowing your fall. Finally you stop moving altogether and are left dangling hundreds of feet above certain death. You whimper and try in vain to find a foothold. There is nowhere to go but up, because you certainly can't go down.

You begin the slow, nerve-wracking, perilous ascent. The daggers are your only means of climbing. They sometimes give and slip in the ice, but they never break, and the ice never fails. This fact would be heartening if you weren't scared out of your wits.

The tower Legolas was standing on collapses behind you. You can't look around to see how the fight is progressing. You simply hope that no one notices you, because you have no way of fending off attack.

A mane of raven hair peeks over the edge of the waterfall. It's Thorin! Your heart flutters in relief that he's still alive. He looks down almost unwillingly; his eyes widen when he sees you hanging.

"Pay attention!" you shriek when an orc appears above him.

Help comes from Legolas, who throws Orcrist through the enemy. Thorin snags the pommel just in time. He looks for a way down to you.

"I'm alright," you call. "Be up in a minute. Don't die before I can get there!"

This is easier said than done as another several orcs occupy him. You work all the harder to reach him, to save him -

The minutes tick by agonizingly, but finally the top ledge is within reach. You stake the daggers solidly and heave yourself over the edge. You take a moment to rejoice at the feeling of ground beneath you once more before standing on your own two feet. "Thorin, I did it, look! Thorin?"

The sight you see makes your blood stop flowing. Thorin is pinned to the ice, Azog on top of him, their swords locked and Azog's gaining towards Thorin's exposed chest. There are only seconds to change destiny forever or fail.

You let out a war cry filled with rage and hatred and denial from the bottom of your soul. This time the slippery ice is your friend; your strides are longer as you thunder towards the creature you intend to murder or die trying.

Again Azog notices you, but this time you are the faster. His pale eyes widen slightly before your fury. You tackle him from the side and stab your daggers into him as violently and maliciously as you can muster. Your momentum knocks him off of Thorin and sends him sliding several feet away. On your hands and knees, you feel a hot pride in your chest that makes it hard to breathe - but it _is_ hard to breathe, and bright crimson blood is dripping in a pool under you.

"Finish him," you pant to Thorin, pressing a hand to the long, deep wound. "Thorin, finish it!"

Azog is writhing on the ice nearby; one of your daggers landed in his eye. Thorin wastes no time in stabbing him through the heart before removing his head. Once you're sure beyond the furthest doubt that Azog is dead and Thorin is safe, you collapse on your side in the spreading pool of blood.


	17. The Alternate Ending

I TELL YOU WHAT MAN, THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL I ALMOST PUNCHED MYSELF IN THE FACE.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You're dazed, plain and simple. The cold mountain air burns your throat when you inhale. Your chest is warm and sticky, and you feel a little weak. It's all connected, but you're just too dazed to put it all together.

Thorin rolls you over. He takes in your wound and pales slightly. You're so overwhelmed to see him alive that you touch his face to make sure he's real. The gesture leaves a red smear.

"You foolish girl! Look what you've done!" Thorin's voice shakes as he reprimands you.

"Nice way to talk to the one who just saved your life," you laugh faintly.

"Does it hurt much?"

"No, I...I think the ice is n-numbing it..."

Thorin scoops you up in his arms without another word. You're still coherent enough to get butterflies from the action. His expression is hard and determined as he runs carefully back to earthen ground. You savor every second that you get to look at him under the late noon sun, because you did it, _you did it_, he's alive and breathing and that's all that matters.

"I...I don't think I'm going to die," you tell him. Though the pain is dulled by the cold air and adrenaline rush, you feel like a mortal wound should hurt a lot more.

"Do not speak."

"M'kay..." You're content with just watching him.

Something momentarily obscures the sun. You squint into the sky to see the eagles swooping in, Radagast and Beorn in tow. You point up at them excitedly. Thorin tucks your arm back down. A thick laugh escapes you as the eagles terrorize the bats. There would be no dying Thorin, no sobbing Bilbo, no burial today...

"Why did you do it?" Thorin demands out of the blue.

"Because it's what I came to do. I came to save you by any means necessary. And you're alive, so I did! I did it! That's all that matters..."

"At the cost of your own life?! Had I know, I would have never brought you with me!"

You smile. You're not even insulted by the harsh words. You learned long ago that getting worked up like this is how Thorin shows he cares. You lay your head on his shoulder and relish being this close to him.

You may have blacked out, because the next thing you hear is Thorin shouting, "Heal her!"

"_Penneth!*_" Elrond's surprised voice says something in elvish. "What happened?"

"Azog - it doesn't matter now - you must save her!"

"Lay her here, quickly - "

You whine as you leave Thorin's warm arms for a hard table. You reach out for him to come back. A rough hand catches yours. "I am here."

"The reason," you gasp, vision blurring. "I told everyone but you - screamed it at them, he wasn't cooperating - "

"Save your strength," he murmurs from somewhere to your left. "Lord Elrond is tending to you."

"But in case - in case I don't - Fili and Balin and Bilbo told me I should tell you - "

"Tell me what?"

"That I love you." The words taste sweeter on your tongue than your favorite dessert. It's almost a tangible weight off your shoulders to admit it. "I'm in love with you, Thorin."

Elrond is murmuring in elvish nearby. The words are soothing, almost like a lullaby, so you let them put you to sleep. After all, you've done what you set out to do. You overcame every obstacle in your path and tore up the script of destiny. And for all your hard work, Thorin is safe. Thorin is alive. Thorin is...

"Ahh!" You jolt out of your thoughts like falling awake. The resulting jerk makes your chest ache. You wince and put a hand to it and feel a bandage beneath a clean shirt.

Sunlight filters through the fabric of the tent overhead, warming you pleasantly in your cot. You wonder how many days you've been out. There is no one in the tent with you, nor do you see anyone outside. You pout a bit. Thorin could've at least had the decency to sit with you after you spilled your blood _and_ your heart to him...

You sit up slowly. Your chest protests at the action. You find the pain is not so bad if you hunch your shoulders. You stretch as much as possible and rise from the cot, intent on finding other life.

You emerge from the tent and squint in the bright sun. It seems to be early evening, so you've at least been asleep for the night. There are other tents around similar to yours; you assume they're healing tents for others injured in the battle. Healers sometimes flit from tent to tent or pause by the big fire to boil more water.

"I do not believe you've been discharged, my lady."

You jump a mile and look guiltily into Gandalf's amused expression. "Gandalf! I was just...I was..."

"Getting back to bed! Come now, off you go..."

You allow Gandalf to assist you back to your cot. In truth, the short walk had drained you; you certainly would not have been able to search out Thorin alone.

"How long has it been?" you ask.

"Several days. You have been in a deep, restorative sleep to help you heal."

"Yeah..." You rub the bandage again. "But it's all over, isn't it? And I did it. I made sure Thorin didn't die! I did it!"

"Yes, you certainly did," Gandalf chuckles. "Though he's not very happy about it."

You snort. "I don't care. He's alive, I'm alive, and Azog's dead. I call that a happy ending."

"And what of your little secret? Have you let him in on it?"

You blush slightly. "Yes, I have," you say primly. "And I'd love to have some feedback, but he isn't even _here_..."

"Even the most determined of Dwarves need to sleep sometime."

"Oh. Where is he sleeping?"

"I believe he retired to the mountain after much pestering."

"Alrighty, let's go." You sit up again, but Gandalf restrains you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"You can stay here," he says firmly. "I will fetch Thorin."

It's a restriction you can live with. You spend the waiting time gazing up at the cloth ceiling, wondering what you're going to say to him. What *could* you say? You'd only confessed your undying love for him before konking out for half a week. He'd had no time to respond - what if he doesn't feel the same? Worse, what if he was put off by your feelings? You feel nauseous at the very thought.

"Aniel."

Your head whips up to see Thorin (and a humored Gandalf) at the mouth of the tent. Thorin enters and takes the chair beside the cot. He stares at you, lost for words. You wonder if he's going to hug you or yell at you. Finally he says quietly, "You saved my life."

"Yes," you say brightly, "yes I did!"

"_Don't ever do it again_."

You laugh. "You're not even a little grateful?"

"I could not be when I didn't know if you would wake."

"Oh. Was it that bad?"

"Everyone said you would be fine, but I could not be sure - I could not hope until I saw for myself - and I did mean to be here when you woke - "

"It's okay. I was going to come find you, but Gandalf caught me sneaking out and sent me back to bed."

"As he should. You are not to rise again until you are discharged. Anything you need will be brought to you."

You frown. "Then who's going to babysit you while you're in the Mountain?"

Thorin chuckles softly. "Gold is the furthest thing from my mind right now."

"Wow, really?"

"You and I have unfinished business."

"Do we? Okay, fire away."

He regards you for a moment, then murmurs, "I never before thought you cruel."

"Cruel? Me? I'm downright merciful!"

"And yet you only confessed your feelings for me when you could have died."

You freeze. "Oh. _That_."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Er...no? I only did it how I did because I didn't know if I'd get a chance to do it later. And I didn't do it before because we all had other things to worry about. But I _was_ going to tell you."

"How long?" he asks simply.

"I loved the _thought_ of you a long time before we met. But I fell for you, the real you...hmm...it probably started when I threatened to kick you off the mountain and you thought my being irritated was funny."

"So long ago!" he muses. "Then I believe I finally have the answer to the question I've asked you so many times."

"Yep." You nod. "The reason I bothered joining this quest and the reason I stuck it out is because I'm in love with you."

"I did suspect some feelings when you kissed my fingers and ran away."

"I didn't run!" you say indignantly. "It was time for dinner! And you braided my hair later that night!"

"Yes..." Thorin makes a face, reliving the memory. "My nephews knew exactly what they were doing when they offered to put your hair up for you. On that note, what did you mean when you said you shouted it at everyone?"

"Oh!" You flush, embarrassed. "Uh, well, when I went to parley with Bard and Thranduil, Thranduil was being obnoxious, so I kind of let it slip to everyone in the tent..."

"So _everyone else_ knew before I did?!"

"It was an accident!" you say defensively. "And apparently I wasn't very subtle anyway! People already suspected! You're just oblivious!"

You expect Thorin to get riled up by your words, but he merely nods pensively. "Perhaps that's true. But if I am oblivious, you are just as much so."

Your breath is stolen by the implications. You can only stare at him and hope he continues.

"I'll admit I began to favor you after the goblin tunnels, and even rely on you out of Mirkwood. It was not simply because of your usefulness, though I tried to tell myself it was only that. You are possibly the happiest, kindest person I have ever met, and your relentless cheer has taken its toll on me."

"Are you saying...you have feelings for me?" you whisper, hardly daring to hope.

"I am fond of you beyond friendship, and the thought of being parted from you pains me to the soul. I would have you continue to counsel me with your good heart. In fact, I would have you never leave my side, as I would feel lost without you."

You burst into tears - it must be a dream, you'll surely wake up any second - but each time you blink, the scene of Thorin looking both awkward and confused does not fade to black. Happiness saturates every fiber of your being, more than you've ever felt before. "You - You're in love with an elf!" you finally sob.

Thorin laughs in relief. "Yes, I am in love with an elf. My ancestors are disowning me from their graves, but I am in love with an elf, and I will fight anyone who dares say a word about it."

This only makes you cry harder. Thorin can only take you carefully into his arms and gently pat your back. "Please don't," he begs. "I am not good at this sort of thing."

"I'm sorry, I'm just so - so happy!" You try to control yourself. "I never thought in a million years - I would have been fine with you not kicking me out after knowing, but _this_ \- "

"I suppose I could do better with communicating my thoughts."

"Are we going to be together forever?"

He smiles down at you. "Until the breaking of the world."

"Oh my god. I think I'm going to pass out."

Thorin hastily replaces you on the cot. "Perhaps this is enough excitement for one day."

"No, don't go!"

"If you get too worked up, it may slow your healing - "

"I literally do not care at all!"

"I won't be gone long. Just enough for you to rest."

"I can rest in Erebor! You just say you'd be lost without me, and with your sense of direction, I can believe it!"

Thorin chuckles and shakes his head. "You - " He scoops you up with ease - " - are a troublemaker."

You shrug. "I'm living the dream right now and I'm not about to wake up."

"I suppose the elf-lord can check up on you inside. Anyway, I'm sure my room is much more comfortable than a tent."

Thorin exits the tent with you securely in his arms. You stare up at the sky, so perfectly content that your face cannot express it. The stars above twinkle down at you, and you silently worship them for giving you the one thing you never thought you'd have.

* * *

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT

Congratulations! You have successfully beaten orcs, spiders, and lack of indoor plumbing to save the line of Durin from their bullshit deaths! And you even netted yourself a rad Dwarf king to boot! You rock!

In all seriousness, I want to thank each of you for your support. This is the hardest I've worked on anything, including original stories. I'll be honest - I don't know exactly how long it'll take me to update after the next two chapters, because I do need to get in line what I want to happen, but fear not! Your adventures in Middle Earth are far from over! Now go take a rest with Thorin - you've definitely earned it!


	18. Interim, Pt 1 - Coronation

Alright, sorry for the delay, just trying to get all my ducks in a row! Also real life has been intervening lately. But thank you all so much for your continued support! We'll have two more chapters of very important meanwhile events before kicking off the LOTR chunk! Stay tuned!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Dwarves from all over flock to Erebor only days after the battle. You're astonished at how fast word and people travel in a world without higher technology. Although the Mountain is generally unfit to live in, that does not deter the Dwarves returning to their homeland: a city of tents is pitched on the lands in front of the gate where the battle took place. You're impressed with how little they care about basically setting up shop on a fresh graveyard.

You gaze longingly at the multicolored town from the balcony in Thorin's room. You'd love to descend and mingle and just take everything in, but you're afraid you'll be mobbed to death for being an elf.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Thorin asks from the desk.

"No, I'm fine..."

He stands beside you on the balcony. "If you are well, why have you not left this room?"

"I don't want my next near-death experience to be at the hands of a bunch of angry Dwarves."

"You needn't worry about that." When you look at him in surprise, he smiles. "You think there have been no tales of the battle told? You think no one knows what you did for us?"

"And they're...okay with that? They're okay with me?"

"They certainly won't kill you on sight. And if anyone does harm you physically or otherwise, they will answer to _me_."

You shiver and giggle. "That's certainly a threat to be reckoned with."

"That's the idea. Anyway, my sister has arrived. I'd like you to meet her."

"Meet Dis?" You gulp. "Is that a good idea?"

"I'm sure Kili and Fili have told her all about you already. And she shouldn't be unwelcoming to the woman responsible for her entire family's lives."

You flush. "I hope you didn't tell her that. I didn't do it for glory, I did it for - "

"I know why you did it," he cuts you off with that gentle smile that makes you melt. "Will you come?"

"I've never been able to say no to you before," you sigh.

He offers you his arm. "Never? Are you sure? I would think it a very recent development."

You squint at him and he chuckles.

He leads you through the grand corridors. Dwarves aiding in the reconstruction stare at you as you pass. Thorin ignores them, but you're not so good at doing so. "They're staring," you mutter uncomfortably to him.

"Let them stare. They should get used to the sight."

And there goes another round of blushing. Any sort of affection from Thorin, however small, never fails to set your face aflame and rob you of words. You simply can't get used to it and wonder if you ever will.

You arrive at a parlor of sorts. You're barely in the door before Kili exclaims, "Mother, that's her!"

You expect Lady Dis to be clad in some sort of fine dress, probably green, and have her hair in a perfect bun. Upon seeing her, you feel you really should have known better. Her attire is only slightly different than anyone else's, and her long brown hair is bunned at the top and braided through the rest. Her eyes are bright and keen and sharper than an axe as she takes you in from toe to head.

"Lady Dis!" You bow low and awkwardly. "It's an honor to finally meet you. I'm Aniel."

Her lips twitch as she tries to keep a stern expression. "You seem nervous, child."

"To meet the woman who grew up with Thorin with intact sanity? You must have a will beyond dragons."

Dis' laughter rings loudly and merrily through the room. "I like this one!" she declares, giving you a friendly but hard punch on your bad shoulder. You grit your teeth and try to smile along.

"Dis, she's still injured," Thorin says quickly, stepping between the two of you.

"Ah yes, I'm sorry, I forgot. Injured protecting my reckless brother - no less than a Dwarf would do. For that, I thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me! I had to - I mean, I couldn't not - " You glance helplessly at Thorin.

"Do not worry about breaking the news; my sons beat you to that long ago. It's very unorthodox, Thorin, loving an elf, but apparently it runs in the family."

Kili grins sheepishly behind her.

"So you're okay with it?" you ask hopefully.

"My dear lady, I am ecstatic. Anyone who can put up with my brother and also make him happy has my full support. Truthfully, I was afraid he would never find love. I remember once, when we still lived here - "

"_Dis_," Thorin says pointedly.

"Oh, fine. Another time, then, dear." Dis winks at you.

Thorin makes some excuse to leave and pulls you out with him. As soon as the door shuts, you say brightly, "I like her!"

Thorin rubs his face. "Of _course_ you do. You two will become the bane of my existence, I'm sure of it."

"I'll be straight with you: if pulling a few pranks on you makes her like me more, I'm gonna do it."

"There's no need for that. She'd already had her opinion of you before you walked in. She was just giving you a hard time to scare you. She used to do that..."

"Is that why she was afraid you wouldn't find someone? Because she'd always scare them away?"

"No, possibly because _I_ would scare them away."

You grin at him. "You're not scary. Not to me."

"That is because you are one of a kind."

The coronation is a month later. You had no clue it had even been scheduled until Dis shows up with a dress for you.

"Oh, it's gorgeous!" you exclaim. "Uh, what's it for?"

"For the coronation, _ghivashel_. You should be done up nice and pretty for your first public appearance."

"F-First public - what?" you squeak. "Dis, no, you've got it all wrong. Thorin and I - I mean, he said that he - but I don't _think_ we're courting..."

"You don't _think_?" Dis repeats, raising an eyebrow ominously.

"Well, I mean, he says nice things and is kind and always looks after me, but I don't know if...he never outright _asked_, so I don't..."

"Did he not?" Dis all but throws the dress on the bed. "I'll take care of my brother, _ghivashel_. You see if that fits you."

"Dis, no!" You stand in front of the door - a bold move, considering the lightning in her eyes and thunder on her lips. "No, please don't say anything! Honestly, it's been nice as it is! But if we're not quite there yet, I don't want to be _presented_ in front of anyone! I was part of the company, so I should be dressed that way."

"Thorin loves you, that much is certain. And I have already come to love you as the sister I never had. So I will notstand for any foot-dragging on Thorin's part. He will make an honest dwelf out of you, or so help me..."

_Dwelf_ was the term Dis came up with for you as you immersed yourself in the culture and language of the land. You've picked up a few phrases of Khuzdul and know enough of customs not to mortally offend anyone. Dis found it amusing to see a tall, lithe elf dressed in the furs and thick boots of the Dwarves. One such custom you did learn is that it's unacceptable for a man to string a lady along, as Dwarrow-dames are so scarce and precious.

"Please, Dis. I'm begging you. I can talk to him about it myself."

Dis squints at your pleading expression. "No wonder Thorin bends so easily to your will," she mutters. "Very well, do as you will. But if things change between now and then, I expect to see you in that dress!"

You make all the promises necessary to keep her quiet and get her out. You collapse on the bed with a groan. Your hand skims the fabric of the dress. It's a deep, rich blue with golden trim, and very elegant. You'd be clamoring to wear it if the occasion didn't involve being presented in front of hundreds of Dwarves. You were terrified of it all going wrong - of angry outbursts about your race and pressure for Thorin to choose a more worthy mate. And surely he would give in to it, wouldn't he? He had a duty to his people - and perhaps he would be forced to abdicate if he didn't marry a Dwarf, making the entire quest for naught -

"Aniel? Are you alright?"

You gasp through your racing thoughts and look up into Thorin's concerned expression. "I'm fine!" you exclaim breathlessly.

"You seem upset. What's wrong?"

"No, I'm not upset! Everything is fine! And...you can see right through me, can't you."

"You are an awful liar."

You fiddle with the golden end of the dress sleeve. "Dis brought me this for the coronation," you mumble.

"Do you not like it? We can make you another - "

"That's not it. It's a gorgeous dress. But I totally forgot there was even going to be a coronation. I just assumed you were king by default."

"I am the next in line for the throne of Erebor, but I must officially claim it. I look forward to seeing you in the dress. I'm honoring all of the company during the ceremony."

"Then shouldn't I wear armor and my weapons?" you hint.

He blinks. "Why would you do that?"

"I _was_ part of the company, remember?"

"Yes, but you are specially apart from them as well."

"I am?"

You begin to panic as Thorin gazes at you with something akin to shock. You wonder if you said something wrong or hurt his feelings somehow. He finally says uncertainly, "Have I not shown my love for you well enough?"

"Oh my god! No! That's not it at all! You've been amazing!"

"Then how could you not know that you have a special place with me?"

"Because - because - " You're so confused and frustrated that everything bursts forth in one long sentence. "Because Dis brought in the dress and said it was for my first public appearance and I freaked out because I shouldn't _have_ a public appearance if I'm not particularly important because I didn't know if we're courting because you never said anything but why else would you be acting this way but I didn't _know_ \- "

Thorin stares at you a moment before putting his face in his hands. "I'm a fool."

"Oh god. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. It is I who should seek forgiveness." Thorin sits beside you on the bed and takes your hands. "I have had so much on my mind that I _forgot_ to - but that is no excuse. I meant to ask you when you were healed, but by then the reconstruction was underway as well as plans to renew Dale. And every time we were finally alone, I was so relaxed and happy that nothing else crossed my mind. It's like we already were courting, only you were unaware."

You slowly digest his explanation. You're not angry with him - shit, you're still thrilled every time he smiles at you - but it all seems so...juvenile. Like a middle school couple who shared a kiss and one person assumed they were dating without notifying the other. The idea that such a thing could happen here of all places is hysterical to you.

"...You're laughing."

"That's because it's hilarious."

"It is far from funny. I've committed an extreme oversight. I hope you can forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you! Don't take everything so seriously, Thorin. I know you've got a lot on your mind, especially right now. I'm just glad that I could help you forget things for a little while."

He kisses your fingertips. "You are a gift."

You grin. "Don't I know it."

"So you'll wear the dress and be presented as mine?"

"If you can promise that it won't make people try to assassinate me."

"You forget, my dear, that Kili has also pledged himself to an elf."

"Yeah, and how do you feel about that?"

"It would be rather hypocritical for me to be anything less than supportive."

You laugh and fall back into the pillows. Thorin had this unique deadpan way of being so funny, and it never failed to raise your spirits.

Thorin crawls up and lays next to you. "Will the lady allow me to make amends for my mistake?" he asks so deliciously that your heart flutters.

"If you insist," you respond breathlessly.

"My lady Aniel, it would be the honor of my life to court you, if you would have me."

"Yes!" You dive into his arms. "Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes! Oh Thorin, you make me so happy every single day, I wish I could find some way to communicate it!"

"Your exuberance is a very good language itself," he chuckles, holding you tightly.

"This is a dream," you murmur into his shoulder. "It has to be. This is everything I've ever wanted."

"_You_ are a dream. The best one I've had. And I refuse to be woken."

You lay there in Thorin's arms, completely overcome by bliss. He doesn't move, so you don't move, so the two of you fall asleep in each other's arms.

The evening of the coronation finds you slipping into the dress just like you promised. You're thrilled by the way the soft material complements your figure. You admire yourself in the mirror from every angle.

"Yes, you do look quite stunning."

You jump and whirl around to see a very amused Thorin. "I...I was just..."

"Preening?"

"So what if I was?"

"You needn't spend any time on your appearance. Presently, that's my job."

"Your job?"

"I came to do your hair before we descend.

"Wow. Warrior, king, and beautician. I hit the jackpot."

Thorin chuckles. "I was going to do your courting braid, if you'd like me to."

"Oh! Yes, of course I'd like it!"

You sit in front of him on the bed. Thorin is skillful and gentle, careful not to tug too hard. You love the feeling of his fingers in your hair and have to repress several shivers.

"There." He clicks the last clasp. "I hope you like it."

You grab a mirror and gasp at the sight. The top layer of your hair is now in a meticulous diamond weave, with little beads glinting in rows like stars. "It's gorgeous!" you exclaim. "So intricate!"

"Only the most unique of designs would suit you, and suit you it does."

"So I get to do yours, too, right?"

Thorin offers you his head. You run your fingers through his wavy raven mane, marveling at how soft it is.

"Are you trying to put me to sleep?" he murmurs.

You giggle. "You like having your hair played with?"

"Apparently so."

You decide on a strong five-stranded braid that keeps the hair out of his lovely face. You work more slowly so it will come out as flawless as yours had. You finally clasp it with a feeling of pride.

Thorin examines it in the mirror. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"And speaking of perfect..." You eye his attire for the night, an ensemble of ceremonial armor and a cape of the same shade of blue as your dress.

"Dis put it together," he admits. "I've never quite gotten the hang of formal wear."

The Dwarrow-dame herself bangs on the door at that moment. "Thorin, you are going to be late for your own coronation!" she thunders. "If you are still not dressed - "

"We're coming, Dis, sorry!" you call, giggling.

Thorin rises and offers his arm to you. You take it like accepting a prestigious award. Hundreds of Dwarves are packed into the great hall to witness the crowning. You stand with the company in the line on the right. All of them are cleaned up very nicely, including Bilbo. You smile excitedly down at him.

"There are so many people," he marvels. "I never expected such a turnout!"

"Neither did I. It's a bit daunting."

"Indeed. But you look lovely in a dress, Aniel."

You laugh. "And you look dashing in a proper waistcoat, Bilbo."

"Yes, a proper waistcoat..." He looks fondly at his attire. "I haven't been this proper since the Shire. It almost feels unnatural after all this time."

"Oh, the Shire..." Your face falls as you remember. "You'll be going home soon, won't you?"

"I'm afraid so. It's certainly been a pleasure staying in Erebor, but it's not where I belong, not truly. But I will be sure to visit, and you must do the same!"

"Of course I will! I'm so excited to see - "

You stop talking as you realize the gathering is also falling silent. All eyes are focused eagerly on the front of the room. Thorin emerges, flanked by Fili and Kili. The golden light in the room is nothing compared to his radiance. He kneels in front of Balin, who, as the eldest of the company, was tasked with the crowning. Balin gives a short speech in Khuzdul before placing the golden helm atop the raven hair you'd just braided. Tears of joy spring to your eyes as Thorin rises, finally in his rightful place, finally home.

He goes down the line and has private words with each of the company. You can't help but overhear when he reaches Bilbo.

"Master Baggins." Thorin surveys the hobbit with a blooming smile.

"_King_ Thorin," Bilbo returns as formally, bowing slightly.

"There's no need for that, my friend. I want to thank you for everything you've done to help realize this night. It was foolish of me to have ever doubted you. You are always welcome in my halls."

"Thank you, Thorin. It is an honor to be able to call you friend. I'm sure you will rule as well as you led."

Thorin now moves to you. You can only beam at him through your tears. He wipes one away and asks with humor, "Why do you always do this?"

"Because it would probably be frowned upon if I attached myself to your chest and sobbed," you return with a watery giggle.

"I owe you thanks as well," he says, taking your hands in his. "For saving the lives of my nephews, for saving my life, and for putting up with me."

"I'd do it all again just to see you now. I'm so proud of you, Thorin, and I'm so glad that I'll be able to see you happy every single day."

"I will be happy if you are here." He kisses your fingertips.

With another short speech from Thorin, the gathering is dismissed for the feast. The din in the dining hall would drown out the coming of another dragon. The long, sturdy wooden tables groan under the weight of so much food. You'd think there would be plenty of leftovers, but you know how Dwarves eat...

It strikes you how lucky you are to witness the scene, especially since it was never meant to happen. Perhaps it was never _meant_ to, but from the cheer and song and laughter, you know it was _supposed_ to. The warmth and good feeling fills your heart and brings forth a content smile.

"Do you dance?" Thorin asks you abruptly.

"Dance? Ha, shouldn't you know that I do?"

Thorin colors slightly at the reminder of the intimate scene he stumbled upon so long ago.

"I don't know if you could call it an ability," you continue, "but I'm pretty sure I can move without looking too awkward."

"Good. Then dance with me."

"Excuse me?"

Ignoring your protests, Thorin takes your hand and leads you to the floor. The few couples already there bow respectfully out of the way.

"Thorin, I don't think - "

"Just look at me."

It's hard _not_ to look at him. He leads in a simple waltz, and you follow desperately in an attempt to look like you know what you're doing. Gradually you relax as the world narrows to just him and the music. He smiles and twirls you. You get a three-sixty view of the room that unnerves you.

"They're staring," you whisper uncomfortably.

"Of course they are. You look beautiful."

"They're not staring because of my looks, they're staring because I'm - "

"Flawless," Thorin finishes firmly.

"Because I'm an elf dancing with the king," you correct just as stubbornly.

"Did you know, dearest, that a king only dances with three types of people? His lady family, any dignitaries, and his intended."

You let out a squeak and trip; Thorin smoothly turns it into a dip.

"Are you - are you _claiming your territory?!_" you accuse in a hushed voice.

"Not at all! That would be juvenile. I'm simply showing off."

You want to cover your face in exasperation, but Thorin has both of your hands. You mutter, "I'd be more annoyed, but I really like the sly side of you."

"Please do not encourage me, my lady." Thorin parts and bows low. "We are in public."

Scratch that. You _hate_ the sly side of him. You barely recall how to curtsy as his suggestive comment makes you light-headed. Thorin escorts you back to the table, looking very pleased with himself. Plenty of stares linger after the two of you are seated.

"A fine display, Thorin," Dis chuckles. "Very mature."

"I don't know what you mean, dear sister. You know it is tradition for the king to dance with his intended - "

"Yes, and you clearly put so much stock in tradition!"

"I'm just trying to get them all used to the idea. It will be better for them in the long run to accept it and move on."

"You're not giving them much choice."

"That's the idea."

"You try too hard," you mumble with a smile. Dis and Thorin look at you. "That's what you said to me a while ago, remember? But _now_ look who's trying too hard."

"I only do it because I know you will not," Thorin says, tucking a lock of stray hair behind your ear. "And I _will not stand_ for anyone saying something unkind to you."

Your face warms at his protectiveness. You kiss the fingers that linger on your jaw. It is a sign of your surrender, and Thorin takes it as such.

The feast lasts late into the night. By the time it's acceptable for the guest of honor to retire, you and Thorin are supporting each other back up to his room. You're so tired you can hardly stand; he may be more than a little tipsy.

"That was...a good party," Thorin sighs in satisfaction, falling backwards on the bed.

You mumble something indistinct in response and throw your dress over a chair.

"You enjoyed yourself, right? Even a little bit?"

"More than a little. Was fun. Am tired. Sleep."

Thorin heartily agrees with your assessment. You have to help him undress, though your fingers fumble out of fatigue as much as his had out of intoxication. He slurs a thanks and burrows under the blankets. You quickly do the same.

He pulls you close and murmurs in your hair, "Your presence made this the best night of my life so far."

"So far? You planning on having better nights?"

"That will be for me to know and you to find out, my love."


	19. Interim, Pt 2 - Proposal

After battling the flu, computer problems, and vacation, I have this for you! I am SO sorry for the long pause, but I had SO MANY computer problems! It is because of that that this chapter is lacking in content. So again, I am sorry, but we are moving right along! Hopefully updates will be as regular as they used to be! Thank you all so much to those who were so patient and continued to favorite/comment!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Thorin asks you to marry him in the spring.

He'd specifically planned the afternoon for at least a month, reminding you of it every other day until you threatened to get it tattooed on your arm so he'd be sure you wouldn't forget. But you understood why it was so important; Thorin had a kingdom to run, so any time off had to be carefully coordinated.

He brings a blanket and picnic basket up to the landing by the hidden door into the Mountain. You appreciate the finely completed circle of events. "Why here?" you ask, wondering if he was thinking the same thing you are.

"I thought it fitting. You'll understand why soon."

You've learned that Thorin is fond of little games like this, so you simply continue eating.

You chat sporadically through the late afternoon. Thorin seems distracted, but you don't really mind: running a kingdom is a full-time job. The sun finally begins its descent in a very grand display of reds and oranges.

"I've got something for you," Thorin begins almost hesitantly.

You groan good-naturedly. Thorin has made it a point to shower you in "somethings" over the course of your courtship. Your collective jewelry stash likely weighs as much as you do. You have enough chains, cuffs, beads, rings, necklaces, tiaras, earrings, and bracelets to start your own kingdom. But you know it's just his way, and you can't say you dislike the attention, especially the proud gleam in his eye when he sees you decked out in his gifts.

"It's a small thing," he assures you, "but it's important. Very important."

"Then I would be glad to see it," you smile.

Thorin places a small box in your hand. You open it and gasp: within is the most breathtaking ring you've ever seen. The large marquise-cut gem is the clearest of white and shines with an inner light. It reminds you of an Elven Ring of Power, or the Evenstar, or the Arkenstone itself.

"Thorin, it's - where did you - how - "

Thorin smiles hopefully. "Do you like it?"

"It's incredible! It's so beautiful it's almost scary!"

"It took a while to craft. It's a simple enough design, but the gem had to be perfect and pure, just like your heart. The band is mithril."

"Thorin, are you sure you want to give this to me? It's _too_ good."

"Nothing is too good for you, my love. In truth, my giving it to you comes with a condition."

"A condition?" you laugh. "Well, I guess that's fitting. Lay it on me."

"You must only accept this ring if you are willing to do me the honor of becoming my wife."

The box almost slips through your fingers as you gaze at Thorin in shock. You manage to whisper, "What?"

"This is your engagement ring, if you'll have it." Thorin takes your soft hands in his warm, rough ones. "I would bind myself to you for all eternity. The mere thought of being without you drives me mad. Will you marry me, Aniel?"

You throw yourself into his arms and fit as many "yes"s into each breath as humanly possible. "Oh Thorin, I can't believe - I never thought - yes, of _course_ I'll marry you!"

"Then you have made me the luckiest Dwarf in Middle Earth." He showers your face with kisses. His beard tickles your nose. He then slips the engagement ring onto your right middle finger, the traditional one for Dwarves.

"I'm the luckiest Elf in Middle Earth! I never would have dreamed that things could turn out so wonderfully. To have been able to meet you, talk to you, fight with you, and fall in love with you has been more than I ever could have asked for. And you did it _here_ of all places!"

"I thought it was an appropriate place. Look, the moon is rising." Indeed, a round, white moon now peeks out from some wispy clouds. "Just as we entered this place by the light on the moon, so shall we rule it side by side."

"Rule it.." Your ecstacy flickers. "I don't know anything about ruling."

"I'm not worried. Your blinding cheer and sheer charm will be enough."

"And you're sure it's...okay for you to marry me?"

Thorin catches your drift and chuckles. "Always thinking of others. You forget, dearest, that the people hold you in high regard, all things considered."

You can't argue with that. You've made quite a splash over the year. The well-loved stories of the Battle of Erebor paint you as a mighty, selfless hero. It's a flattering notion, though not quite true, and you suppose you can see how such a portrayal would earn you at least grudging respect in the eyes of the Dwarf people. But perhaps Thorin was onto something when he mentioned your blinding cheer: in the same way you had disarmed the company with your militant merriment so long ago, your almost aggressive joy gave no one who met you a logical reason to dislike you. And really, it hadn't been a chore to be kind and engaging and sociable. You found every Dwarf genuinely fascinating, likely because even after all this time, you're still amazed to find yourself where you do.

You nod. "Alright. No worries. I'm gonna be queen. I'm gonna be _queen_." You repeat it with awe, hardly able to digest the idea."

"And quite a historic one," Thorin adds, pulling you back into his arms. "The first and possibly last Elven queen of a Dwarf kingdom."

"Firsts are nice, but I really only care about who I'm marrying, not what I'm marrying into."

Thorin shakes his head, smiling. "Again your purity astounds me. How do you do it?"

"Y'know, I've actually been thinking about that, and I have an answer: it's because I never lie about my motives or what I'm feeling - or I haven't yet, anyway. I'm just honest."

"If only we could all be so open with our feelings."

You twist the ring on your finger. The large gem catches the moonlight and glows all the brigher. "Well, this is certainly a good start."


	20. Interim, Pt 3 - Preparations

Here's the final interim chapter between Hobbit and LOTR! Next chapter starts the War of the Ring! I hope you're as excited as I am, because things won't go as smoothly as they did before!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

With the quest for Erebor behind you, you find yourself facing a short lifetime before anything of earth-shattering importance happens. It's a period rich with possibilities; the entirety of Middle Earth is at your feet. You're honestly a bit overwhelmed by it all, but you plunge headlong into it.

First and most importantly, you learn to defend yourself with anything ranging from a sword to a large stick. You train hard and refuse to be discouraged. You become more than skilled with your sword, your axe - a wedding gift from Dwalin - and your bow, which Elrond has made for you during your first stint in Rivendell.

Thorin isn't pleased about you returning to Rivendell without him, but he understands how important it is to you to learn about your heritage. Elrond welcomes you gladly and takes you as a student. He teaches you the history Middle Earth, the art of medicine and healing, and how to speak, write, and read both dialects of Elvish. You're thrilled by the latter due to the running joke that you couldn't understand your own language; you can't wait to rub it in Legolas' face when you see him again. You spend a few months at a time in Rivendell before returning to Erebor, because you learned after the first visit that you don't like being apart from Thorin.

Being married to Thorin Oakenshield is nothing short of an adventure. The vast majority of the time, it's an enjoyable adventure. The two of you spend most of your days together and never manage to tire of each other's company. You learn how to run a kingdom through observation and more formal lessons. In return, you teach Thorin diplomacy. He protests, claiming that diplomacy is not in Dwarven nature, but relents when you threaten to take over all of his diplomatic affairs.

The two of you argue sometimes - it's inevitable with any couple - but the spats don't last. You take any tantrums like the rocky shore absorbing crashing waves. Your impassiveness usually wears him down to an apology at the end of each rant. But you're not perfect - you get mad at him, too. The best way you convey your irritation is by only speaking to him in Elvish. Once you carried this on for so long that Thorin asked Tauriel to translate until you switched back to something he could understand. Really, the two of you hardly have the will power to be angry for great lengths.

In the time away from the throne, the two of you relax in your room, on the landing outside the hidden door, or on a small porch near the peak of the mountain. The latter was an addition of your idea, because you wanted to see Dale by night. You mentioned it to Thorin in passing. Two months later, he led you there for a romantic evening. But really, any time the two of you are together is romantic.

It's not just romance, though. Thorin also becomes your best friend. You talk and tease each other and form inside jokes. You trust each other enough to be able to spend time apart; most of your friends are male, and he goes for boys' night out, all without issue. You learn everything there is to know about him. When he asks for your stories, you either alter your past experiences to be more Middle Earth-friendly or fabricate them altogether.

You suppose it's that last detail that is the cause of the nightmares.

They started one night without warning. You saw your parents, your old friends, your old house and school, all through a haunting filter. Someone called your name, your real name, in the distance all the while. You woke in a cold sweat from it, and upon realizing the subject matter of the dream, you ran from the room with tears in your eyes.

You'd settled into this life so flawlessly that the reminder that you didn't truly belong there shook you to the core. You stumbled through the corridors, choking on sobs, until you arrived at a window. The stars in the endless black sky stared you in the face without shame or pity. You cried at them, but you couldn't quite hate them for what they gave you.

The same dream and ones like it return from time to time, and it throws you off for a few days every time you experience them. You've been called Aniel for so long that hearing your old name is like calling up a ghost. You've come to believe that your foreknowledge is truly due to foresight instead of religious watching of a series of movies; remembering that everything you know and love and live came from a book causes a dissonance so strong that it triggers panic attacks.

Thorin is by your side through these sporadic dark times. He supports you faithfully, if bemusedly; you can't tell him the subject matter of the dreams, obviously, and you don't want to discuss them as it is. If he is nearby for a panic attack, he will rock you and sing softly in Khuzdul until you calm down. It never fails to soothe you, but unfortunately he isn't always around. You hate the feelings remembering your old life gives you, so you put it out of your mind as much as you can.

You and Thorin visit the Shire at least once a year. Thorin gets to come along because the visits are always very important diplomatic matters. You'd casually suggested this lens one time, and now the entire Dwarf race is convinced that the Shire is a great nation led by a fearless Halfling. You of course do nothing to change this notion.

You reflect one afternoon as you sit in the shade of the tree atop Bag End that you could not have gotten more lucky with your lot. You are married to the love of your life, and that alone is bliss without the bonus of a luxurious life, many wonderful friends, and good health with which to enjoy it all. You can't help but wonder if it's the universe's way of rewarding you for working so hard to change the course fate. You realize that you'll be at it again soon; the years have passed much too quickly, and time is not known for slowing down.

"What are you thinking about, love?" Thorin asks, settling beside you.

"The future," you respond absently.

"And what do you see?"

You look at him. The face you know so well is largely unchanged by the years; Dwarves have long lifespans as it is, but you may possibly be guilty of using your skill in Elvish medicine to slow his aging further. "I see us, forever," you say with a smile, and it's not necessarily a lie.

Thorin smiles as well. "Anyone could tell you that. What's really on your mind?"

You sigh. "There is a war coming."

"A war? When? Who attacks us?"

"It's not an attack on Erebor. In fact, most of it takes place far from there, for which I am very grateful. No, this war is bigger than that. It is a battle for all of Middle Earth, and I must be part of it."

"Then I will fight by your side."

"You can't."

"I _will_."

"You _can't_, Thorin." You take his hands in yours. "It's nothing personal. I'll be away with a small group for most of it. You must stay where you are needed."

"Away? Away for a war? Not without me. I won't allow it."

"Don't be stubborn, darling. I've been training and preparing for ages to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. It will only take a year, maybe less."

"An entire year without you? I'll go mad!"

You laugh and lay your head in his lap. "You're already mad."

Thorin strokes your hair. "I could not live if anything happened to you."

"Neither could I. That's why I need you to stay in Erebor where you'll be safe. I'll have everything under control."

"How long until we must be parted?"

"Oh, decades. Just put it out of your mind. It's such a lovely day. We should enjoy it."

The conversation falls to the wind in the trees and the chirping birds. Here with Thorin, it's almost like such a dark time will never come. So you pretend life will always be this and relish the feeling of Thorin's fingers in your hair and the sun on your face, storing the memory away for a time you'll need it.


	21. A Long Expected Party

Yay, let's ring in the first chapter of LOTR! Are you ready to kick some butt, reader? Well, ARE YOU?

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The well-tread path through the great wayside trees is almost as familiar to you as the roads around the Mountain. You take a deep breath of the fresh, free Shire air and smile in spite of the weight in your heart. If nothing else, the evening's celebration will be interesting. You wonder if hobbit revelries could match the party spirit of the Dwarves.

The path leads you right to Bag End. The infamous sign on the gate is no deterrent. You hop the gate and rap smartly on the green wooden door.

"Who is it?" a familiar and suspicious voice calls from inside.

"An old friend coming to call on a grouchy birthday hobbit!" you reply, grinning.

Bilbo throws open the door. "Your Majesty!" He bows low. "You honor me with your attendance!"

"Sixty years and you're still hilarious," you say dryly. "C'mere - "

You kneel and hug Bilbo tightly, though perhaps not as tightly as you once would have; he's old now, and you worry about snapping him into pieces. But the gleam in his eye and his smile haven't aged a day, which you're very glad to see.

"It's so good to see you at my door of your own free will and sound mind," Bilbo quips.

"And it's good to see you standing without a cane. Where did all that beautiful caramel hair go in sixty short years?"

"We cannot all be unchanged by time, my lady," he says loftily. "But hair aside, I'm fit as a fiddle! I could fight another dragon if you've got one! But - uh oh - " Bilbo yanks you inside and quickly slams the door shut. "A dragon, yes, easily, but not my _lovely_ extended family."

"You are going to come to Erebor for retirement, right?"

"Retirement? I don't know what you - ah, yes, of course. I forgot you do that."

"You'd be comfortable there," you press, batting your eyelashes. "We'd set you up for life, and you'd be among friends - "

"May I remind you that our _friends_ are about as peaceful as a starving warg pack!"

"What happened to being up to fighting another dragon?"

He waves that away. "I'm leaving to do some traveling, first and foremost. I've been cooped up here far too long."

You smile fondly at your longtime friend. In the right light, he was almost the young, complacent hobbit you'd known many years ago. "I know you'll have a good time wherever you choose to go," you say.

"Do you know?"

"Yes, I do know."

"Then that settles it. The party is the perfect time to make my escape. Frodo will be comfortable here in Bag End. He's a good lad. I'll miss him the most. He'd enjoy your visits, if you still cared to come."

You shrink away from the topic of the future. You say instead, "Let's focus on tonight. I'm sure it'll be a time to remember."

Bilbo beams. "Oh, shall it ever!"

The inhabitants of Hobbiton prove their ability to party to the point that you're sure if they and the Dwarves ever got together, the resulting rave would level a continent. Ale flows like the Anduin. Dozens of tables groan under the weight of enough food to feed an army. The hobbits are initially shocked to have a Dwarf-dressed Elf in their midst, but your eagerness to have a good time soon puts you in their good graces. You make sure to take a break from dancing to listen to Bilbo recount the troll incident; it's just as amusing to hear despite having been there.

"Did I do the story justice?" he asks slyly once finished.

"Of course you did. You make it sound like it was only yesterday."

"It almost feels like it was," he sighs, looking off into the trees. "Sixty years have passed in a flash, haven't they?"

You nod. "Faster than I ever thought they would. Too fast. I never realized how terrifying time can be..."

Bilbo recites, "All things it devours: birds, beasts, trees flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stone to meal. You know where that's from, don't you?"

"Yes, though I never was fond of riddles. But I'm sorry, I shouldn't be ruining the mood. It's a happy night. I shouldn't be gloomy."

"No, no, don't apologize. It's an appropriate topic. I am old, Aniel. I certainly don't look my age, but time has a way of reminding one in the early mornings and the late evenings of its ways. So rather than waste away in complacency, I shall get back to my roots, get back on the road, for one more adventure!"

You smile. "Bilbo Baggins, it has been nothing short of a blessing and an honor to know you."

"And you, my lady. Whatever led you to fall down at my door was fate's hand, and we will meet again after tonight."

You linger at the party after Bilbo's disappearing act. You don't really want to be present for his departure; you have enough emotions to contend with about starting the quest to change the fate of Middle Earth. It's ironic for you to realize that, despite all the preparations and training you'd done in those sixty years, nothing could have prepared you for this.

You follow Frodo quietly when he returns to the house, calling for his uncle. He pauses in the foyer, noticing the ring on the floor. "He's gone, hasn't he?" he realizes sadly. "He talked for so long about leaving...I didn't think he'd really do it... Gandalf?"

Gandalf, previously caught up in his own thoughts, looks up with a thin smile. "Bilbo's ring," he comments as though he's surprised. He grabs an envelope. "He's gone to stay with the Elves. He's left you Bag End, along with all his possessions."

Frodo hesitantly drops the ring into the envelope. Gandalf seals it with wax. "The ring is yours now. Put it somewhere out of sight."

"Where are you going?" Frodo asks as Gandalf rises and gathers his things.

"I have some things I must see to."

"What things?"

"Questions. Questions that need answering."

"Gandalf," you call quietly, finally drawing attention to yourself. "You needn't leave to find those answers."

Gandalf stops and stares at you. You're not sure if it's understanding or hesitance growing in his grey eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you don't have to go all the way to Minas Tirith to find out what you need to know. If you want to talk about that ring..."

"But you would not know...you could not..."

"All these years and you still don't believe in me?" you ask wryly.

"What do you know of Bilbo's ring?"

"I know that everything you fear is correct. It is the One Ring."

"How?" he demands. "How could you know? How long have you known?"

"Throw it in the fire if you want proof. The writing will appear, and then maybe we can save some time and get ahead."

"Throw what in the fire?" Frodo interjects. "Gandalf? What are you - ?"

Gandalf takes the envelope off the mantle and tosses it in the fire, ignoring Frodo's protests. The paper shrivels away, leaving the ring gleaming among the hot coals. Gandalf retrieves it with the tongs and sets it on the table. You hold your breath despite knowing what comes next: the previously inocuous golden band erupts with letters of red light that cast an eerie picture on the dark walls.

"What does it say?" Frodo near-whispers.

"The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

"_Mordor?_"

"In the common tongue it says, 'One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them'."

You sigh softly and plop down in a chair. It's strangely exhausting to hear the truth you carried so long finally become common knowledge; you'd think it'd be easier for others to know, but it's just another sign that this awful journey is about to begin.

You jump when Gandalf asks sharply, "How did you know?"

"What?"

"How did you know of this?"

"Uh, the same way I've known literally every other thing that's happened."

"And how long did you know of this ring? Since Bilbo found it? For sixty years?"

"Are you _insinuating_ something, Gandalf?"

"What possessed you to keep this a secret? If this is truly the One Ring, and it has been here all this time, how could you not tell someone?!"

You shriek a curse in Khuzdul and jump to your feet. "Do you really think anyone could have done anything until now?" you shout. Both Frodo and Gandalf are taken aback at your uncharacteristic display of temper. "I haven't had this rattling around in my head for the past six decades because I wanted something to think about! You know as well as I do what's been going on in the world as of late. I have waited for sixty years, prepared for sixty years, all for this! _And_, might I add, me telling you now has given us extra time to play with! If you want to accuse me of sabotage or evil, Mithrandir, I suggest you do it right now or forever hold your peace!"

Silence rings in the wake of your anger. You're not the least bit sorry for yelling; you can't believe Gandalf would think after all this time that you hadn't done only what you thought was right.

"Is this what you meant?" he asks quietly. "Those many years ago in Rivendell - sixty years, you said - "

"Sixty years until the ring resurfaces, yes. Now let's talk about the near future. The Nine have been dispatched from Minas Morgul, but we have some time to play with. I'm not sure how long, but it's more than we would have had. If we can to decide what we're going to do, maybe we'll have the advantage."

Gandalf stares at you for a long time. Not even Frodo dares to speak; he looks between the two of you nervously. Finally Gandalf rises and murmurs, "I must see the head of my Order regarding this matter."

"Also, Saruman's working for Sauron."

"Is there anything else you see fit to share?!" he bellows, filling the room with shadow. You cross your arm as the display. You've put up with Thorin's temper tantrums; this is quite unremarkable. Gandalf huffs angrily, mutters something to Frodo about keeping the ring secret, and sweeps out the door.

It's quite a bit before Frodo manages to ask uncertainly, "Is everything alright?"

You sigh, a bit of your irritation ebbing away. "No, Frodo. But it will be in time. I'm sorry you had to see that. I didn't expect Gandalf to react so badly."

"But you're no servant of evil, Aniel. You wouldn't sabotage anything."

"Of course not. I think Gandalf is just afraid. I'm afraid, too. This is bigger than all of us."

"I'm not sure I understand."

The two of you sit down in front of the dying fire. You tell Frodo everything you know about the ring, its forging, and its lore. You suppose he deserves to know, given what trials he'll soon face. His usually bright eyes are troubled by the time you finish.

"No one knew," you say heavily. "No one but me."

"And you kept this to yourself for all this time?"

"I didn't know what else to do. On the quest for Erebor, it was easier to use my knowledge to help things. My only goal was to keep Thorin alive. But now, with this - Frodo, this ring and what we do with it will determine the fate of all of Middle Earth. I've pondered it for years, but I couldn't possibly work things out easily. It's too big."

"I think I understand," he says, nodding slowly. "Telling too much too soon may have changed what you saw happening, and then you'd be just as in the dark as the rest of us."

"Yes. That's what Gandalf doesn't get."

"I think he does get it. But he's frightened, like you said. If I am honest, I'm beginning to be frightened, too..."

"I won't tell you not to be, because there's plenty to fear, but I will tell you not to worry about it. Things will work out in their own time. For now, we should get some sleep."

"Yes, I suppose you're right..." Frodo picks up the ring and turns it over in his fingers. "What should I do with this? I could bury it, or throw it down a well..."

"Just put it away somewhere safe and try not to think about it more than necessary. I find that's a pretty good way to ignore a problem."


	22. At the Start

I think this is the last completed chapter I had saved up from not being able to post for a while, but the updates should still continue to flow forth! Thank you kindly to those who commented recently; I got a really nice one saying they stayed up all night reading! I'm so honored! Alright, let's get to it!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You rise early in the morning to draft an annoyed letter to Thorin. You complain about everything, both to get it off your chest and because he thinks it's cute when you whine. You also mention how much you wish he were here, because the prospect of starting another epic journey without him just feels wrong. You then roam Hobbiton until you locate a raven to carry the letter sealed with your love.

Frodo is awake by the time you return and has breakfast laid out. You're too far in your head to realize that he notices your mood. He asks quietly, "Are you still thinking about it?"

"Huh? What?"

"The ring. You're still thinking about it, aren't you?"

You wrinkle your nose and stare into your tea. "Frodo, I hope I haven't given you the illusion that I'm an individual with everything together, because that's the furthest thing from the truth."

"But how can you not be? You know so many things, and you have friends in every race - "

"I have literally blundered through every adventure I've been on. I've tried to be mature, but I'm still just a scared little girl."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm the scared little girl that has your back in all this. Gandalf is being...unreasonable...but I know what his next move would have been."

"Then make whatever preparations you need to, and I will follow your lead."

You blink up at him. "You want to come?"

"I must. The ring passed from Bilbo to me. It is my responsibility."

You sigh. "Are you completely sure, Frodo? This is not a task to be undertaken lightly."

"I'm sure. But I must ask you something about last night."

"Of course."

"You said you'd seen things, you'd seen this happening. Do you have the gift of foresight like other great Elves?"

"I'm far from great, but yes."

"So you know how this journey will end?"

"Perhaps. Like we established last night, if we change too much...we're already pushing it by starting early...but it may be for the best."

"Then with you leading, I will follow."

"I appreciate your trust in me. I will not lead you astray." You glance out the window. The day is wearing on. "Alright, if we're going to do this, we need to get going."

You and Frodo agree to leave the next morning. You put together packs while he rounds up Sam. You trust to fate that you'll pick up Merry and Pippin on the way; it's the least fate can do, to give you this one, considering you're up against the embodiment of all evil.

Dinner is staid. You assume Frodo is mirroring your mood, for he has no idea the true gravity of what's about to begin. You wish you could be more confident, even if it would only be an act, but you can't help but to account for the journey as a whole. Finally you give up on eating and go to sit under the oak tree on the roof. The stars are bright and beautiful as always, though tonight they're a bit mocking, and you wonder if Thorin is watching them as well.

You miss him, plain and simple. You expected as much after being married to him for sixty years. Rarely had you been away from him except to study in Rivendell and to visit Bilbo, and he often accompanied you on the latter. You hope he's holding up well, and that his dislike for the distance hasn't started a war or something. The raven you sent this morning could never have reached Erebor in only a few hours, and yet...

You retire to bed and fall asleep with your locket tightly in your hand.

Frodo, Sam, and you strike out from Bag End with the sunrise. You make an attempt to be more sunny on the walk; no need to stress Frodo more than necessary before he has the fate of Middle Earth dropped on his head. The weather is lovely for travel, and Sam at least is feeling friendly. He carries most of the conversation, which is a borderline interrogation, and it's pleasantly distracting.

"It's a dream come true to talk with you, Miss Aniel," Sam gushes yet again.

"I'm glad I'm Elvish enough for your taste," you return.

"You _are_ a bit different than the stories. I didn't know Elves dress so heavy-like."

You laugh. "Most don't. I'm, uh, not an average Elf."

"Why's that? Where do you come from? If you'll pardon my asking," he adds sheepishly. "I certainly don't mean to pry."

"No, you're welcome to ask anything you like. I live in Erebor with my husband."

"Erebor? Where is that? Is it like Rivendell?"

"Not very. It's the greatest Dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth."

"You live with Dwarves?" Sam gasps. Frodo grins; he's long been aware of your strange life. "I didn't think they were fond of Elves!"

"They're not. I'm kind of the exception. I was with Bilbo on his great adventure. That's how we know each other."

"And you brought your Elf husband along?"

"Not an Elf."

"Another Dwarf!" Sam is overwhelmed at the idea. "Did you meet him on the adventure?"

You smile fondly at the memories. "Yes, he was one of the company. The leader, in fact - Thorin Oakenshield."

"Why did you not bring him with you?"

"It wasn't his place to come. Anyway, he has too much to deal with back home. I miss him, though, terribly."

"I'm sorry. That's romantic, though. What's he like, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Stubborn," you answer immediately. "The most stubborn Dwarf to ever live. But beyond that he's brave and loyal and kind and a great warrior. He's everything I could ever want."

"That's nice," Sam sighs dreamily. "Real love like that is nice. I hope I can find someone to love like that one day."

"Oh, you will," you say before you can help yourself.

Frodo interjects, "She has Elvish foresight."

"Which we probably shouldn't go spreading around," you muse.

But Sam hardly cares about safety now. "You know the future?" he asks excitedly. "You can tell who I'll marry?"

"Yes, I know who you'll marry. Do you want to know?"

"Goodness, yes! If you see fit to tell me, that is."

"Oh, how can I refuse such fine manners? The name of your future wife, Master Samwise, is Rosie Cotton."

You and Frodo both cackle at the expression on Sam's face. "That's a cruel joke, my lady," he mumbles. "I was being serious."

"So was I! Come on, Sam, I wouldn't lie to you. There's a bit of time between now and then, but if all goes as I see it, you and Rosie will live happy and cozy until the end of your days."

"Could it even be? You're not making fun?"

"On my honor, my good hobbit."

Sam falls silent, dazed with the possibilities. It's a taste of foreknowledge you probably shouldn't have given him, because for the next few days he tries to get more tidbits out of you. You finally have to gently but firmly tell him that future knowledge is a very secretive business. He is helpfully distracted by the very sudden appearance of Merry and Pippin.

You sidestep the collision just in time and smile down at the present fate left you. Sam receives an armful of vegetables in response to his chiding. "You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" he accuses; the farmer himself can be heard not far behind.

"We should pick a better way," you call as you follow the hobbits through the cornfield. "If we keep going like this, we'll hit a - "

There's no time to finish your sentence before Sam sends the lot of you over the edge. Since you expected the fall, you're able to slide down the incline with a bit more grace. The hobbits land in a pile of groans and snapped carrots.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took!" Sam grumbles, righting himself.

"What!" Merry is indignant. "That was just a detour! A shortcut!"

"A shortcut to _what_?"

"Mushrooms!" Pippin exclaims.

All irritation forgotten, the three rush to claim the unexpected treat. You're more interested in whether or not Frodo will suggest moving off the road. If he does, that means you don't have as much time as expected...

Frodo stares down the wooded path and says, "I think we should get off the road."

"Are you kidding me?!" you shriek. "No way! I specifically left early to - "

"Get off the road! Now!"

The birds stop singing and the temperature drops noticeably as the hobbits dive for cover. Fuming, you press yourself into the trunk of the tree beside them. How could it possibly be that the Nazgul made it here already? Gandalf couldn't have even arrived at Isengard by now. You'd counted on that being the driving force - but perhaps you had your timeline skewed - it'd been so long since you watched the movies -

Your breath catches in your chest. Your pulse races. The panic only fuels your alarm. Not _now_, not now of all places! You can't afford a panic attack when there's a Nazgul only feet to your left!

Merry finally throws the bag of mushrooms, distracting the Black Rider. You stagger away from the tree, gasping for air. "Run," you pant. "Go! Hurry!"

You cover the rear in case anything else decides to surprise you tonight. Running towards a goal helps you level your breathing and calm your mind. You focus on just getting the hobbits to Bree. It will be enough of a job to occupy your thoughts.

Shrieking gives the Nazgul away before he bursts out of the trees. You throw yourself between it and the hobbits and yell at them to make for Buckleberry Ferry, assuming it hasn't sunk in a freak accident, because that seems to be how your day is going. You exchange a few sword blows with the Nazgul before gaining enough space to run again. You follow the shouts of the hobbits ahead to know your direction.

The sound of babbling water reaches you. The ferry is just ahead, which is great, because another Ringwraith has joined the pursuit behind you.

"Frodo!" Sam calls desperately.

You see them gliding out onto the water sans you or Frodo. With a final burst of energy, you sprint ahead, grab Frodo under your arm, and make a spectacular jump onto the little floating wooden platform. The Ringwraiths screech in fury. You actually enjoy the sound of their crushing defeat.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" Frodo asks.

"The Brandywine Bridge...twenty miles. Is...is she okay?" Merry looks down at you.

You wave away the concern. "Just...out of practice with adventuring," you pant. "Ha...I did the same thing to Bilbo once, Frodo, except I tossed him off a cliff...funny how that works out..."

You close your eyes and let the gentle ebb of the river calm your breathing. The hobbits paddle in silence. They're surely scared, and they're not the only ones. You were _so sure_ that leaving early would give you the advantage. You shouldn't have crossed any Wraiths on the way to Bree! What stupid unforseen force refused to cooperate with your foreknowledge? More importantly, would this be a trend?

"Aniel, we're here," Frodo calls you quietly.

Indeed, the ferry has stopped moving. You step onto solid land and make sure there are no threats nearby.

"What _was_ that?" Merry demands. "That Black Rider, what did it want?"

Frodo gazes down the path towards the town. "I must leave the Shire. We must continue to Bree."

Merry huffs but does not protest. You herd the hobbits in a tight group until you finally see the gate. Never before have you been so happy to arrive anywhere, not even to Rivendell many years prior. You bypass the gateman and duck into the Prancing Pony with overwhelming relief.

"I'm getting too old for this," you mutter into a warming pint of ale.

"You did not know that would happen?" Frodo asks worriedly.

"We left early specifically so it wouldn't!"

"Then can you know what will happen from now on?"

"Fortunately, yes, I can. As long as things stay their course and there are _no more surprises_, I'll have things well in hand until Rivendell."

But perhaps you wouldn't have to manage it all alone. If the timeline was indeed moved up by some ridiculous, cruel prank of fate, then a certain Ranger should be only a few seats away. You look up hopefully at the secluded corner. Your heart soars when you meet keen eyes illuminated by the embers of a long pipe. It's enough of a relief to let you lay your head on the table. The last thing you say before you drift off is, "Pippin, you do not get a pint."

Pippin, predictably, does not listen to you.

Your dreams warn you of the impending stupidity; you wake violently upon hearing the name Baggins. Before Frodo can make a move, you charge to the counter and bodily grab the hobbit off the stool. "I think it's time for bed," you growl.

"Now? But I haven't finished my pint!" Pippin is too drunk to escape as you carry him up the stairs, motioning for the others to follow.

You ensure that the hobbits are safely in their beds before heading to the washroom for a quick bath. Of course, you never make it there: a hand yanks you into an empty room on the way. You've already reached for your sword before you realize your interceptor.

"An Elf traveling with four hobbits is a strange sight, but even more strange was your eagerness to keep them quiet," he murmurs. "Do you have something to hide?"

"Do _you_ have something against normal introductions?" you return. "I preferred Pippin keep some information to himself, that's all."

"Your method was rather conspicuous."

"You're one to talk, Strider, kidnapping me from a well-earned bath!"

Aragorn's eyes narrow slightly. "You know of me?"

"We're both friends of Gandalf the Grey, though _friend_ is a bit of a generous description of how I feel about him at the moment. My name is Aniel. He may not have mentioned me - "

"He did, as did another friend of mine, which adds to my interest of what you're doing with Frodo Baggins."

"I'm doing exactly what Gandalf himself would, were he not _previously occupied_." You can't keep a measure of bitterness out of your tone at Gandalf's unwillingness to trust you even after all this time. "Do you know why Frodo is here? Did Gandalf tell you?"

Aragorn nods grimly. "That is why I came."

"And I am _sooo_ glad you did. We've already had a run-in with the Nazgul. I wasn't looking forward to protecting them on my own."

Aragorn seems not to have heard you; he's regarding you thoughtfully. "You do not seem surprised to see me," he comments.

"Indeed, you only let your guard down after you saw me downstairs. Did you know I would be here?"

"Would it make you trust me any more if I say yes?"

"I am not sure. You say you're not on good terms with Gandalf at the moment, which makes me slow to trust you."

"I'm not on good terms with Gandalf because instead of listening to someone who has literally always been right, he left and put himself in needless danger, landing me with protecting Frodo. Not that I *mind* to do it - I sort of signed up for it - but not like _this_!"

"Foresight," he realizes.

"Precisely."

"But if you truly have the gift, you would have known you would meet the Ringwraiths on the road."

"I was trying to avoid it! We left early for that exact reason! I didn't know they'd already be here!"

Aragorn gazes at you for a long time before lowering his head. "I believe you."

"Really?" You look up hopefully. "Oh, thank goodness! I know I haven't made the best first impression, and I'm sorry, but you kind of caught me at the most stressed I've been in ages. _And_ I was headed for a bath..."

"From which I impeded you." Aragorn holds the door open with something of an expression of kindness. "Go and relax. I will watch over the hobbits."

"Thank you. I knew I was excited to meet you for a reason."


	23. Into the Wild

I just watched my brand new BOFA DVD and I have so many regrets about doing so. On the positive side, I am now raring to submerge myself in a version of Middle Earth that ISN'T COMPLETELY TERRIBLE HOW COULD YOU PETER JACKSON I TRUSTED YOU I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS SHIT *rants into the distance*

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

Once you explain to the hobbits who Aragorn is, they're very willing to let him join the group. This is also after you explain who _you_ are to Merry and Pippin, who you recalled you hadn't been properly introduced to. Aragorn takes over leading the group from Bree. You're more than happy to let him do it and just provide extra security. He's a good leader, though you hadn't had a travel regime so strict since Thorin.

The matter of your husband pops up after you've made camp on Weathertop. You're caught up in your own thoughts of the future when you hear Sam say, "Is that a raven?"

"A raven?!" You look up quickly. Sure enough, a beautiful black bird is preening on a nearby rock. Something is tied to its foot. You snatch the letter and tear it open. "It's about time!"

_ My dearest heart,_

_I am sorry to hear your trip hasn't gone as planned. You should have remembered that Wizards can be as stubborn as __Dwarves. I hope Gandalf will regain his __senses and listen to your counsel; it has failed no one before._

_I also wish I was with you, or that you were home with me. I can always meet you somewhere if you so desire. Being without __you has made the world wrong. __Business continues as usual and affairs run smoothly, but the days are empty when I cannot __see you each evening and morning. Dis has threatened __numerous __times to fetch you herself if only to improve my mood, and __I'll admit that I am no joy to be around. I can imagine you smiling as you read this - I'm __sure it amuses you to know that the __great King Under the Mountain is lost without his Queen. The irony is not lost on me either, but I care not for it. I only __wish __for __the year to be up and to have you back in my arms._

_Write whenever you can. If the letters stop, I cannot promise that I won't send armies to tear apart the lands until I find you __safe._

_Yours eternally,_

_Thorin_

The tears that fall from your face thankfully do not smudge the handwriting that you know so well. You commit every word to memory and press the folded paper to your lips. You fancy you can almost feel the warmth of his hands where they touched the parchment.

"Is it ill news?" Aragorn asks, and you jump. He and the hobbits are staring at you, the latter with some concern.

"N-No, it's not like that." You wipe the tears that glaze your cheeks. "It's just a letter from my husband."

"You wrote to Thorin?" Frodo is surprised.

"Yeah, so?" You clutch the letter defensively. "It's our first time being separated for so long, and I - I - I don't have to explain myself to you!" You move further away from their quiet chuckles to work on your response.

You produce a page of small script telling him briefly of the news of the quest and mostly how much you miss him. Putting it down on paper amplifies the ache. You suddenly long for the comfortable bed the two of you normally share, the feeling of his rough fingers on your waist, the gleam of his eyes through the dim light...

Aragorn says from behind you, "I did not know you were married."

"Huh? Oh, yes, I am."

"And I did not know you were a queen."

You turn fully towards him at this. "We don't need to spread that around," you say quickly. "What's the point of titles on a trip like this? I'm sure you can relate, son of Arathorn."

Aragorn half-smiles, understanding the hint. "I do apologize, though; I would not have been so rough with you on our first meeting had I known."

"Rough, ha! I live with Dwarves!"

"Which is fascinating of itself. Your marriage to the Dwarf king is legend."

You flush slightly. "It shouldn't be that legendary. Kili married an Elf, too. But how did you hear of it? Have you really roamed all the way to Erebor?"

"I have wandered far and wide, though not near there. Word travels on the road, and I am always listening."

"It must be so neat to be a Ranger," you sigh dreamily. "All the places you've been and things you've seen... I tried to model myself after you lot to prepare for this, but rugged living is easy to ruin when you have easy access to hot baths and big beds. I guess my willpower isn't as good as yours - if I were you, I'd stay in Rivendell. But I'm rambling," you finish sheepishly.

"Not at all. Hearing you speak so openly is very telling about you as a person."

"I hope it's a good telling. I'd like to be at least on good terms with you, Aragorn, since we'll be seeing so much of each other."

"You needn't worry about that," he says warmly. "Go and send your letter. I'm going to have a look around."

You check the darkening sky. It _is_ about time for him to disappear. You seal your letter with a kiss and give it to the raven along with a sausage as thanks. The bird takes off; you watch it until it disappears in the distance. With Aragorn gone and some time to kill before the possible Nazgul raid, you join the hobbits at the campfire to grab some dinner.

A shrill cry startles you from a nap you didn't know you were taking. You leap to your feet. Night has fully fallen, and over the edge of the cliff you see shadowy figures approaching the hill. The hobbits rise as well and draw their swords.

"Climb those rocks," you tell them sharply, gesturing to the piled remains of several statues. "Stay alert and don't come down!"

You grip your own sword, the fire of determination roaring in your soul. Frodo would leave here unscathed if it took your lifeless body to make it so!

The Ringwraiths gather at the far end of the space. You stand firm, waiting for them to make the first move. They slowly arm themselves and glide towards you. It's five against one, but you've had worse odds; the idea makes you smirk.

The first Wraith lunges with a shriek. You expertly parry the attack and engage in a heated battle. You focus less on defeating them and more on distraction; if you can keep them occupied until Aragorn returns -

Or you could just burn them yourself.

The campfire is through the line of Nazgul. You charge right through them and grab a flaming log right out of the blaze. "You picked the wrong night!" you shout wildly. "Come on! Bring it!"

The Nazgul swarm you. You wave the torch to keep them at a distance. You manage to ignite one, two, three before a searing pain in your arm causes you to drop the log. The Wraith that sliced you brings his sword down hard; you block it, but the force of the blow brings you to your knees.

A battle cry and a blur of flames removes the threat. You breathe a quick sigh of relief and go to check on the hobbits. They're still huddled on the rocks. "Are you alright?" you demand.

"We're alright," Frodo answers breathlessly. "Aniel, your arm - "

"It's fine," you say shortly.

Aragorn finishes dispatching the last two Wraiths and strides over. "Are you injured?" he asks you.

"Just a scratch."

"Those are Morgul blades. Death is forged into the very metal. We must get you to Rivendell, and quickly."

"You don't think I planned for all eventualities?" you say wryly. "I can hold over for a bit. Even longer if we find some athelas."

"We'll find some on the way. We need to move now."

You bind your arm while the hobbits pack up. You certainly hadn't planned explicitly to take Frodo's place, but with your experience with Elvish medicine, you're not too worried about succumbing to such a small wound. It is quite painful for its size, however: your entire arm is both burning and heavy with the poison of the Morgul blade. You whisper a few words of healing that dull the pain slightly.

You grind through the next two days fueled by nothing but will power and spite. You almost militantly rebuff all attempts to care for you; it takes a lot of energy to exist solely on simmering fury, and any decrease in your guard might render you invalid for the rest of the trip. Fortunately, you receive a boost in morale that you'd thoroughly forgotten was coming: the camp at the end of the third night is set in a clearing with three very familiar statues.

"The trolls!" you exclaim, running ahead of the group into the glen. "I can't believe - I totally forgot - "

"These are the trolls from Bilbo's story?" Frodo gasps.

"Yeah! Oh my goodness, this brings back memories! Thorin and I were right there in sacks - " You stand in the same spot you'd been in so many years ago - " - and Bilbo was over there, telling them the best way to cook us. Thorin was so mad at him! Then Gandalf came and cracked that rock there, and the trolls turned to stone in the sunlight."

The hobbits gaze in wonder at the troll-shaped statues. You pace excitedly around the area, reliving the adventure. The camp you'd made was to the right, and up to the left was the troll hole -

"I found athelas," Aragorn says, breaking your reverie. "Let me treat your arm."

"Oh! Alright. Thank you."

Sam boils some water and you and Aragorn sit on some logs. Aragorn carefully removes the bandage on your forearm. Your wound does not look as grave as Frodo's would have, but it certainly isn't pretty.

"You're lucky," he says, crushing the herb in the water. "It isn't deep, and you've been able to keep the poison at bay well by yourself."

"Better me than Frodo," you sigh. "It was supposed to be him, only much worse. I've been trying to avoid it the whole time - we left early, I didn't let Pippin run his mouth, and I tried to keep watch - but nothing has worked. Every time I've tried to change something, it's gone on and happened like I never interfered at all."

"Until now, at least."

"That isn't the point. My track record is better than this. If I haven't been able to change these early events, what if I'm useless later?"

"It must be a burden to know the future before it happens."

"It is now," you huff.

The athelas does much to soothe the wound once the paste is applied. Aragorn wraps the paste with a clean bandage and ties it securely.

"Thank you," you say again. "I really appreciate it."

He seems not to have heard you. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Anything else?" You raise an eyebrow. "You almost sound irritated, Strider."

"Not irritated, no. But if you've seen any more attacks, I should like to know of it."

"Oh. Right. It's funny, it hardly occurs to me to tell people about the small things. But to answer your question, there aren't any attacks scheduled, but we do have a very lovely visitor coming."

Galloping hooves cut off Aragorn's question, and Arwen rides into the clearing. The two of you stand, you with a smile; you and Arwen became friends during your time in Rivendell, and you're glad to see her again.

"I hoped I'd find you here," Arwen says with a slight smile.

"What are you doing here?" Aragorn asks, shocked.

"I've been looking for you for two days. My father saw the Nazgul attack." Arwen looks at you. "How are you holding?"

"Well enough, but I'll need help when we get to Rivendell."

Poor Aragorn is utterly lost. "You two know each other?"

"She is my friend," Arwen says, smiling at you. You flush slightly; you're still not quite used to being called friend by the Evenstar. "Let me take you home so my father can tend to you."

You almost assent, but realization hits you. "I can't go. You have to take Frodo. The Nazgul are still out there, and if he stays, they will attack again. Take him with you, Arwen. We'll be close behind."

"Are you sure? Will you be able to make it?"

You grin. "'Course I will. It's just a scratch."

"As you wish, _mellon-nin_."

Sam is very against Frodo leaving with the stranger, but you assure him that it's for the best. They take off into the night. You watch them go, feeling rather pleased with yourself. You haven't been able to change much this time around, but saving Frodo from a lifelong wound is a good first victory. You're sure the Ringwraiths will follow Frodo due to their pull to the ring. That will lead to them being swept away by the Bruinen, putting everything back on track until Rivendell...

Aragorn says quietly from behind you, "There is clearly much I do not know about you, my lady."

You laugh. "Did you expect me to be transparent?"

"No, not transparent, but you are very open. Yet still a mystery..."

"Mysterious? Me? That's a new one! Well, if you're looking to unravel me, it'll have to wait until tomorrow at least. I'm kind of exhausted."

He finally smiles a bit. "I'm sure you are. Go on to bed. I'll take the watch."

You set up your bedroll in the same place you and Thorin lay. Your arm hurts a little less as you relive the adventure over and over until you drift off.


	24. The Intricacies of Foreknowledge

Have I mentioned how in love with this dumb thing I am? Like, tooting my own horn here, I love how the movie dialogue is still used, just with a bit of twisting around. I just really loVE THIS DUMB STORY OKAY

Prepare for a nice surprise next chapter!

*Translations: penneth - young one; hanon le, hirvuin - thank you, my lord

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The athelas was just what you needed to tide you over until you arrived at Rivendell. Elrond immediately took you to his study to heal you when you arrived.

"I get the feeling that you're mad at me," you say sheepishly as he cleans the wound with a cloudy expression.

"You are reckless, _penneth_," he answers sternly.

"That is completely true, but this time it was an accident. I was protecting Frodo. He would have gotten it worse, and I wanted to spare him that."

Elrond sighs. "You are also too kind. It may be the death of you one day."

"Yeah, probably."

Thanks to Elrond's ministrations, the pain in your arm slowly ebbs away. You flex your fingers, pleased to have full use of your hand again. "_Hanon le, hirvuin_."

Elrond smiles. He knows how much you like to speak Elvish around other Elves, and he always found it endearing. He carefully wraps the wound and says, "Go and rest now, and try to stay out of trouble. Your room has been made up for you."

You exit into the dimming day. You're glad to be back at Rivendell; it's become your home away from home. You retire to your room to turn in early. You hadn't realized until now what a toll the wound had taken. You don't mind sleeping for a few days. You want to take advantage of the the safety and security, for you know such things will all too soon be gone once more.

You enjoy your time in the Hidden Valley in the company of the hobbits. They're fascinated by the Elvish home, and their enthusiasm is refreshing; it reminds you of how you felt on your first visit. You show them all your favorite spots and of course spend hours upon hours with Bilbo.

You're thrilled to read There and Back Again. It's a facet of the adventure that you never got to experience, it being from Bilbo's point of view. Each page has you captivated, though it does make you miss Thorin more than usual. You're sure he'd enjoy reading the book and wish he was here with you.

You're milling around aimlessly after breakfast one morning when hoofbeats on stone draw your attention. You're shocked to see Gandalf galloping up and looking slightly worse for the wear. "You're here!" you exclaim, helping him dismount. "Are you alright? No, don't answer that, I know you're not - "

"I am well enough," he replies. "And I owe you an apology."

"It's forgiven. I cooled down ages ago. I wish you hadn't gone, though. You look awful."

"It is repayment for my arrogance and shortsightedness. I must speak with Lord Elrond immediately. Come with me."

The two of you ascend to Elrond's study. He looks up at the footsteps and is taken aback by Gandalf's state. "Mithrandir! What on earth happened to you?"

Gandalf relates the circumstances of Saruman's betrayal. You listen grimly despite having known it all along. Elrond is just as bleak when Gandalf finishes. He paces in circles, looking troubled.

"We have been blind," Gandalf says darkly. "Not all of us, though, thankfully."

Elrond looks at you. "Why did you not tell someone sooner? This would not have been such a blow had we known - "

"I didn't know how to," you say quietly. "Or maybe I thought it would be better not to. See, some things have to be set up, like when we left here so many years ago. We had to stay in that particular cave and get captured by goblins so Bilbo could find the ring. If I would have suggested a different spot, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Saruman's been a rat from way back, but you wouldn't have believed me if I told you because there was no proof yet. But now there's proof, and now everything is right in line."

Gandalf says heavily, "She is right. I should have listened to you, Aniel."

"It's okay, really. I understand why you didn't, and I'm sorry for getting so mad. But I hope you'll trust me from now on."

"Without question. I wish I had not gone. Unwittingly I told Saruman of the ring. By foul craft, he has crossed orcs with goblin men. He is breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard, an army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the ring."

Elrond looks to be at the end of his rope. "This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves. We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard! Gandalf, the ring cannot stay here."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"To have come so far still bearing the ring, the hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil..."

"It is a burden he should never have had to bear! We can ask no more of Frodo."

"Gandalf, the enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the east. His eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin."

"We have one great one left." Gandalf looks at you. You're surprised by the acknowledgement; you've been listening intently to the conversation and have almost forgotten they can see you. "Aniel, is there anything more you can tell us? Anything at all?"

"I - well, yes, there is, but..."

"But?" Elrond prompts.

"I haven't had much luck with changing things lately," you mutter. "I managed to save Frodo, but everything before that has happened like I never interfered. I can tell you what is supposed to happen initially, but I may not be able to make it better."

"It is not all up to you this time, _penneth_," Elrond says gently. "We will be able to help."

You summarize a year's worth of events and battles from memory. Elrond transcribes the major details as you speak. You take them all the way through Frodo's destruction of the ring and end with a sigh, "That's how it's _supposed_ to happen, anyway."

Gandalf and Elrond are silent, each of them in their own reveries. You wish one of them would say something. You've had this in the back of your mind for so long, so now that others are aware of it, you're desperate for another point of view.

Finally Elrond murmurs, "I understand what you mean about fixed events. And you knew of this, of all of this, even on the day we spoke sixty years ago? This is what you could not tell us then?"

You nod.

"But perhaps if you had, we could have prevented it."

"I doubt it. Fixed event, remember? No one would have had a chance to destroy the ring any other way."

Elrond rubs his temples. "I am also gifted with foresight, but your amount of knowledge - the complexity, the intricacy - it must be almost torture."

"It _was_ easier the first time around," you mumble. "But it's nice that someone else knows now. You can do something about it, can't you?"

"_Can_ we? If we act and alter too many events to drastically, it may affect other events down the line and make them unpredictable."

"Welcome to my world." You look over the list of events. "It looks like the nearest optional event is Moria. Gandalf, we don't have to go down there. You don't have to fight the Balrog."

"I will do it," Gandalf says quietly but firmly. "It seems to be for the best."

"If you insist. You can change your mind later if you want. Next is Boromir - I intend to save him, and that'll help Frodo and Sam down the road. I'll go with Aragorn to Rohan and see what I can do about Helm's Deep. Then maybe I can keep Theoden alive, and that's all we have to work with."

"This knowledge is a priceless weapon against our enemy," Elrond murmurs. "Thank you, Aniel. We will do what we can. You run along now and relax. Apparently I have a council to convene."


	25. Many Meetings

It occurred to me that we're 25 damn chapters in and I'm not even halfway through the first LOTR movie. I am going to be working on this for the rest of my life. I should just put that Simpsons sign DON'T FORGET, YOU'RE HERE FOREVER as my desktop background. At least I'll enjoy being here forever.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You're impatient for the delegates to arrive. You're dying to be in the company of Dwarves again, and it's been years since you've seen Legolas. You occupy yourself with sword training and sleeping and spending time with the hobbits. Finally, as you head to the gardens one late morning, you notice Aragorn conversing with a head of long blond hair.

"Legolas!" you exclaim. You take off at a sprint and skid to a stop in front of the shocked Elf. "It's been so long! I'm so glad to see you! Er, do you even remember me?"

"It would be hard to forget the way we parted. As I recall, you leaped from a cliff and called back an apology for the escape."

"Oh good, you do remember! I'm glad you're finally here, because I have to tell you - I've learned Elvish! I can speak my own language now!"

Aragorn interjects amusedly, "Then this _is_ the same woman you told me about. I thought as much."

"I never did learn your name," Legolas says to you.

"Oh my goodness, did I never introduce myself? I can't believe you never knew my name through all those years! Well, better late than never - I'm Aniel. _Mae g'ovannen, mellon-nin_."

Legolas smiles. "You call me friend although you were my father's prisoner when last we met?"

"Of course! We had a good time, if a short one. I was so excited to hear you were coming. Now we can all spend time together and be real friends!"

"How did you come to be here? Have you lived in Imladris all these years?"

"No, I've only visited. I live in Erebor. I married Thorin."

"Married him!" Legolas exclaims. "I never would have thought!"

"I know. Honestly, I was kind of surprised as well."

"Then has his hatred of Elves cooled?"

You grin. "Nah. It's just me he likes. Kind of a shame - but everyone will get along eventually. Anyway, I'm so happy to see you. We'll have to catch up soon."

"I would like that. I'm sure you have many fascinating stories to tell about your unique position."

You beam and skip off to meet the rest of the delegates.

Boromir is the next to ride in. He looks so lost as he dismounts that you take pity on him. "Hail Boromir of Gondor! I'm glad you arrived safely."

Boromir bows when he sees who greeted him. "The reception is appreciated, my lady. I was afraid I'd end up wandering until nightfall."

"No need for that," you say cheerfully. "I can show you to a room, if you'd like."

"I would not inconvenience you..."

"Not at all! I've been waiting for ages for you all to get here. Come with me, and we'll see if we can head off the need for a map."

"I have never before been to Rivendell," Boromir remarks, taking in the flowing architecture and gentle colors of the buildings. "The tales do not quite do it justice. You have an enchanting home, my lady."

"Oh, I don't live here. I'm here for the same reason you are. And my name is Aniel."

"Well, Lady Aniel, I am glad for your presence. Any measure of softness will be a welcome change from the hardness of the world."

You leave Boromir at his room, feeling that your first meeting has been a success. You hope to forge a bond with him so it will be easier to save him later. With two of the visiting three races accounted for, you return to the main gate to await the arrival of your extended family.

Bilbo joins you. "Waiting for something?" he asks lightly.

"For the Dwarves," you sigh. "Everyone else is here except them. I miss them."

"I'm sure they'll be here soon."

You look at Bilbo. "It sounds like you know something I don't."

Finally three more ponies ride in. You jump up excitedly. Gimli is first - he's much older than the last time you saw him - followed by Gloin, who is now white-haired, and bringing up the rear is -

"THORIN!"

Thorin dismounts quickly to catch your running hug. You crash into him and his strong arms close tightly around you. You take in his familiar scent and warmth, and it's like you'd never been parted.

"How are you here?" you finally manage to ask.

"Because you are here, and I should be wherever you are."

"That's not an answer," you laugh, but you don't really care why he's here, only that he is. You suppose that Elrond wrote him and he decided to come along with the delegation. You make a mental note to thank him later. "I missed you."

"And I missed you, more than I could bear, my love."

Bilbo interjects with a sly, "Should we leave you two alone?"

You blink around at him, genuinely surprised to find that there are other people nearby. "Did you know about this? Is that why you came to sit with me?"

Bilbo shrugs mischievously.

You're able to tear yourself away from Thorin long enough to greet Gloin and Gimli while he sees to Bilbo. Gloin rightly greets you as an old friend; Gimli bows low and murmurs, "Your Majesty!"

"Oh, that's not necessary!" you say brightly. "What are titles among friends? I'm sure you're tired - I can take you to a room, if you'd like. I kind of became the greeting and escort party..."

You lead them to their own rooms and bid them good evening. Thorin asks playfully, "Have you a room for me as well?"

"Yes, Thorin, it's called _my room_, and we're never leaving."

"That sounds perfect."

The pair of you spend the rest of the evening holed up in your room. When you realize the sun has set, you say guiltily, "We missed dinner."

"So?"

"So you've been riding for a long time and I know you're hungry."

"I'm fine. I've been drinking you in all evening."

You roll your eyes. "Being romantic is not going to distract me."

"Is it not?" Thorin puts his hands behind his head and frowns at you. "Have you built up an immunity to me after all these years?"

"Ha! I could live with you a thousand years and not be immune to you, Thorin. But I am going to get you a decent meal, so you can either come with me or wait here."

"If you insist. Remind me when we return that I have something for you."

"I'm sure I won't have to remind you. You've been dying to give it to me, haven't you?"

Thorin smiles. You take his hand and lead him down the path to the kitchens. You continue, "You know, I shouldn't let you give me so many things when I can't even reciprocate."

Thorin laughs loudly. "Can you not? As I recall, you gave me a priceless gift for our anniversary."

"Thorin!" you whine. "That thing is a monstrosity."

"How dare you! It is the most precious thing I own!" Thorin raises his right hand; the moonlight glints off a rich blue gem set sloppily into a silver band. "I've never been more proud than when you gave it to me."

You squint at the ring. It was your idea for a gift for the landmark fiftieth. You'd asked Balin to help you make something special. You wanted to try your hand at Dwarvish crafting; you tried it, and out came that misshapen gilded donut. Thorin loved it, of course. He'd never once taken it off. But at the very least you know it isn't the embodiment of all evil.

You're friendly with the Elves in the kitchen, so they're glad to pack you a basket of the leftovers from dinner. You and Thorin have a lovely fire-lit picnic in the floor of your room. You wait until dinner is over to inquire about the present, because truthfully you are more than a little curious about it. You rather hope that it's nothing heavy and opulent, given the type of journey you're about to undertake.

You voice this to Thorin and he shakes his head. "It's very practical. It will help us stay in touch."

You still remember enough about technology to wish it was a cell phone.

"The ravens we use to carry messages are particularly fond of bright objects. I supposed that, since you will be traveling far and through many perils, you should have something bright enough to make sure the ravens can find you."

Now you're visualizing a portable mirror of some sort.

Thorin withdraws from his bag a small cloth-covered object. He sets it in your waiting hands. You uncover it to see a breathtaking hair clip. The body is silver, and set within it is a large piece of the most incredible jewel you've ever seen. The jewel is mostly white, but in its depths are flecks of every color imaginable.

"Thorin," you whisper, "is that...?"

"A piece of the Arkenstone? Yes."

"Please tell me you didn't destroy the Arkenstone to make this."

"I simply carved out a bit of it."

"But why? It's the King's Jewel, the heirloom of your house - "

"Not anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. You have been the King's Jewel for as long as I care to remember. The Arkenstone is the Heart of the Mountain. I am King, so I thought it fitting that my Heart remain incomplete as long as you are away from me. As long as you wear this, it will be very hard to miss you from the skies. This way we needn't worry about not being able to communicate."

"Thorin, I...I dont know what to say..."

"Simply say that you'll be careful. I fear they will have to restrain me to keep from following you."

You allow Thorin to fasten the clip at the base of your braid. You can only imagine the way it will scintillate in the sun. "Thank you," you murmur.

"You needn't thank me. You are more to me than that jewel. You are more than all the wealth in Erebor."

You smile. "I've seen all the wealth of Erebor, and from a logical standpoint, that's not possible."

"There is no logic in love, dearest." Thorin takes you into his arms. "If there were, we would not be sitting here."

"Really?" You feign offense. "You mean there's no _logical_ reason you would have fallen in love with me?"

"Not by my old logic, darling. But you quickly left me without the ability to reason due to your unquenchable cheer and blinding charm. You showed me that I needn't hate _all_ Elves, only _most_ of them."

You laugh. "And here I thought you were at least cordial with Lord Elrond!"

"He is another I can stand, if only because you're fond of him."

"Y'know, it _sounds_ like I have you wrapped around my finger."

"I hope this is not news to you."

You lay your head on his shoulder. The banter has suddenly made you very sad. "I don't know what I'm going to do for the rest of this," you mumble. "I hate being away from you. I miss you already."

"I daresay you'll have plenty to keep you busy, if this quest is as important as you say it is."

"It's only for the fate of Middle Earth. I don't technically have to go. They'll be fine without me. I could go home with you."

"Why did you want to go in the first place?"

"Because...well, I'd like to change some things and save some people, but I don't _have_ to do that."

"And you did not _have_ to come with us to reclaim Erebor."

You sigh. You see his point.

Thorin chuckles and strokes your hair. "Please do not make me be the mature one. I of course want you home safe with me, but I know you will regret it if you do not go."

"I guess I would."

"Then that is your answer."

You pout. "I don't like it when you're right."

"I have to enjoy it when I am; usually you're the one who's right."

"Did you bring your harp?"

"Of course I did."

The two of you move to the bed. You snuggle into Thorin's side under the covers and close your eyes. His deep voice, complimented by the floaty sound of the harp, fills the room and your heart. You let out a sigh of contentment. You don't need to pretend you are home in Erebor; be it there or Rivendell or the Wild, home is wherever Thorin is.


	26. The Fellowship

I know I never outright said it, but please don't think that this is the first time you and Thorin have been..._together_. It's just that my ability to write smut would come out about as sexy as two old people getting it on, so I figured I'd spare you that. Just use your imagination.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The Council convenes early in the morning. You rise with plenty of time to spare; you refuse to be late to such an important meeting. You take a seat between the Dwarvish delegation and the Elven one. You're excited to act as the bridge between the two races, but you try not to act it; everyone else is solemn and stately.

Elrond rises and begins. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old: you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom..."

Well, things are off to a bright start. You suppose Elrond is not as confident in how the quest will go because he hasn't seen it himself. But perhaps the dismal opening is fitting; this quest is more than a little important, and if everyone took it as seriously as you, there would be ten beings of various races skipping merrily into the blue.

Then again, you _could_ still go home with Thorin. There was nothing you necessarily had to change this time around. Everyone would get there in the end without your help. You figure that sixty years as a queen has spoiled you. There would be no beds in the Wild, no baths, no varied meals, little comfort, no Thorin...

"I will be dead before I see the ring in the hands of an Elf!"

You blink around. Had you been so deep in reverie that everything important had been said? "Gimli - "

But you're too late to defuse the situation. Everyone begins arguing at once. You start to intervene, but think better of it and settle back in your seat. You catch Frodo's eye and grimace in a _can you believe these idiots_ way.

"I will take it!" Frodo shouts, standing up. "I will take it!"

The bickering dies down slowly and everyone turns to look at the little hobbit.

"I will take the ring to Mordor! Though...I do not know the way..."

Gandalf stands by Frodo's side. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn joins in, kneeling in front of the new Ringbearer. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I shall. You have my sword."

"And you have my bow."

"And my axe!"

Boromir comes to accept the decision. "You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

You rise and join the growing company with a small smile. "I'm with you, Frodo, always," you say gently.

Everyone murmurs in surprise at a _girl_ volunteering, but Sam, Pippin, and Merry barreling in causes a distraction.

"Ten companions," Elrond says thoughtfully. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great!" Pippin says brightly. "Where are we going?

You wonder how you ever could have convinced yourself to stay. Yeah, this is going to be on hell of an adventure.

You retire to your room where Thorin is still sleeping. You shed your clothes and crawl back in the bed. Now that your plans are cemented, you feel more at peace, though still very uninclined to leave the love of your life.

Thorin stirs at your fingers in his hair. "Already up?" he asks, eyes still shut. "That's very unlike you."

"The Council was early this morning. I just got back."

"And?"

"And we're leaving out in two days."

Thorin pulls you down to him. "I'm proud of you," he murmurs into your shoulder. "You're doing the right thing."

"I'm definitely doing the _selfless_ thing."

"Well, you needn't start being selfless for two more days. I'm sure we could think of _something_ to do until then."

You're very glad you don't have much to pack, because you are quite occupied for the rest of the day.

The time of departure arrives much too quickly. You're much less inclined to say goodbye to Thorin, especially given his way of "spending quality time together". The two of you stand close in the shade of a blossoming tree while the others make their final preparations.

"It doesn't seem right, leaving on an adventure without you," you murmur with an attempt at humor.

"Adventures come in many forms, love. Mine will be attempting to navigate without my conscience to keep me in check."

"Please make an effort. I'll be pretty miffed if I come home to find you've started a war or something."

"I'll do my best not to."

"Also do your best to stay safe. I don't know how far this evil spreads before we stop it. Sauron's armies may come to Erebor and Dale, so please..."

Thorin embraces you tightly. "I will be waiting for you. I promise."

"And I'll come back to you. Nothing will stop me."

You pledge your love again and share one last kiss before you tear yourself away to join your new fellowship. You try to keep a neutral expression - you have an impression to make as the only woman - but you can't help the few tears that spring in your eyes. You do not look back as the fellowship makes its start into the Wild.


	27. Khazad-dum

Sup friendos! Bit of a delay with this chapter, I know - I was doing that socializing thing again - but there's hella more content with this one than the last! It will **perhaps** be two more chapters before we move right into Two Towers. I want to thank each and every one of you - everyone who's followed and watched and reviewed and even those who just read through it once - for being with me every one of these 27 freaking chapters. I hope y'all know that's more chapters than I've bothered with in my **own** original works. I clearly have my priorities in order.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The merriest of your companions are, unsurprisingly, the hobbits. They indulge your cheerful, playful side, and are just about alone in that aspect. Everyone else is so _grim_ in comparison. You wish you could sober up to show that you're taking the job seriously, but you have enough to worry about without worrying about it so openly.

You're also very glad for Gimli and Legolas' presence. They keep you from feeling too terribly homesick. You converse with Gimli in Khuzdul and Legolas in Elvish. Both of them pointedly ignore the other. You wonder if you can royally order them to just be friends already.

Boromir comments on your versatility one evening when you bring him and Aragorn dinner. "You are truly a lady of many faces," he says, inclining his head in thanks.

"Sorry?"

"You get along well with everyone. It's rather impressive, especially looking at our other Elf and Dwarf friends."

"I like getting along with everyone!" you respond brightly. "May as well, considering we're stuck together for a while."

Boromir chuckles. "That's one way to look at it. I do appreciate your cheer, my lady."

"You don't need to be so formal," you say, plopping down with them. "One good thing about being on the road again is leaving formalities behind. No more dresses and bowing and all that, at least for a little while."

"I'm afraid I haven't gotten to know you as well as I should. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Erebor, like Gimli."

"And the Dwarf always in your company in Imladris, was that your...?"

"Husband, yes." You smile at the very mention of Thorin.

"That is fascinating. I was under the impression that Dwarves and Elves do not get along well enough to be friends, let alone to be married."

"Thorin and I have a _long_ history. Wasn't easy to make him stop being so stubborn. It's a Dwarf thing, I've noticed."

"Thorin..." Boromir repeats the name and stares hard at you. "The King Under the Mountain is your husband?"

"Yes."

"Then that makes you - "

"Unimportant," you cut him off. "I'd rather not go spreading that around. People treat me different when they find out I'm... y'know. Sometimes I like being just Aniel."

"I understand. I will treat you no differently than a lady warrior, save this once - _Your Majesty_."

You squint at him. "Oh, you're hilarious."

"My apologies. I could not help just one."

"Well, by royal decree, it had better be just one!"

Even Aragorn laughs along. You're thrilled to have a lighthearted conversation with Boromir. You'd hoped he'd be friendly, and if he's already teasing you, perhaps the two of you will become friends.

It's a bit hard for you to sleep that evening after being spoiled by the feathery beds of Rivendell. You rise to sit by the fire for a minute and find Gandalf already there. He is deep in thought amid thick clouds of pipe smoke. You do not disturb him.

"I would have taken us through Rohan," Gandalf says suddenly.

"Would have?"

"Recall that we must make a detour."

"Oh..." You lower your head. "We don't _have_ to go through Moria, Gandalf. Rohan won't be open to us, but we could go over Caradhras..."

"I will not deviate from what is seen. I have learned my lesson from doing so in the past."

"What! Don't put that on me, Gandalf! I don't want to be the reason that you die! We can do it another way!"

"I would put nothing of the sort on you," he says with kind amusement. "I do this in full knowledge of the consequences. It seems it would be the best path in the long run."

"I mean, I have no clue what would happen if you didn't come back as Gandalf the White, but - "

"Some things simply must be," Gandalf says wisely. "Dear Aniel, I have lived longer than most who walk this earth. Even if I were going to meet my end, it would certainly not be premature."

"I still don't like it," you mutter. "I use my foreknowledge to keep people alive, not kill them."

"You needn't worry about it. However, I would like to know what we are facing there. I know the mines were previously taken over by orcs..."

"I actually have no idea what we'll find down there. Balin was meant to reclaim Moria, but I wouldn't let him go because it would have led to his death. I'm sure there are still orcs and goblins in Moria, but the numbers are certainly less than before. Dunno how much that's saying, though, because it's still a lot."

"Well, put it out of your mind for the present. We are still many days from Moria. You should get some sleep."

You rise to do so, but the conversation rolls in your head like angry clouds. You pause and half-turn. "Gandalf?"

"Hm?"

There are many things you want to say - you still feel a bit bad for yelling at him in Bag End - but it only comes out, "I'm sorry."

Gandalf chuckles. "Dear lady, you have nothing to be sorry for. Do remember that you are no longer the only power at work."

The notion makes you feel slightly better, like the weight of the world isn't only on your shoulders. You manage to sleep after that.

Gandalf had said that there was still a length to go before Moria, but in only a blink it is night and the fellowship is edging along a stony beach between dark water and a sheer stone face.

"I'm so excited to see Moria," you murmur to Gimli. "I wonder if it's much like Erebor, architecturally speaking..."

"Don't have terribly high expectations, my lady," Gimli replies. "Moria has been abandoned for many a year, only blighted by orc filth."

"That's okay. Erebor wasn't much when we first got there, and now every inch of it is stunning!"

The plain grey walls are not very impressive, and neither is the small strip framed by two ancient trees until the light of the moon illuminates silver veins set into the rock. The intricate door shines through the dark. You're fascinated by how such a delicate outline can open feet of solid stone.

Gandalf translates the runes above the door. "It reads, '_The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter'._"

"What d'you suppose that means?"

"It's quite simple: if you are a friend, speak the password, and the doors will open." Gandalf looks expectantly at you.

"I got it. You know, it's funny..." you say in a sing-song voice, looking at Legolas and Gimli as you twirl over to the door. "It's funny that a Dwarf door has an Elvish password - _mellon!_"

The two make faces as several others snicker at the insinuation. The rock parts into two thick doors. You urge everyone in; anything to avoid the confrontation with the Watcher in the Water. The dark of the mines is impenetrable once the doors seal behind you.

Gandalf lights his staff just enough to provide light to walk by. The entrance hall is bare of all the corpses that would have carpeted the floor had you allowed Balin to try to reclaim the city. The utter emptiness is somehow more eerie than the bodies would have been. Each footstep and clank echoes in the vastness of the chamber. The silence is so heavy that you can't bring yourself to comment on what would have been a grand city.

Indeed, Moria is crumbling. Years and years of neglect, desecration by orcs, and the natural movements of the earth have chipped away at the incredible structures in much less skillful ways than the Dwarves had. You regard the abandoned realm ruefully, wondering what it was like in the days of Durin. Could it have been splendid enough to surpass Erebor? Could it even be salvaged if it were one day safe enough to reclaim?

A hand on your shoulder stops you. "Watch your step," Legolas murmurs pleasantly.

You come out of your reverie to see the abyss you would have fallen into with your next footfall. You jump back into him in terror. "Glad somebody's paying attention!" you gasp.

"I'm sure you didn't not see the drop..."

"I was just thinking about it. About Moria, I mean. It's pretty, isn't it? At least it was, and would have been. The architectural details almost remind me of Mirkwood, except I've noticed Elvish design is more fluid compared to Dwarvish, which is very geometrical. It sort of fits, when I think of it - er, I'm rambling, sorry."

Legolas smiles slightly. "You are different than the Elf I met. Or perhaps you are the same, and you were just putting on a formal veneer?"

"Oh, definitely. I'm terrible at behaving, well, like a normal Elf. You're all so and graceful and fluid and floaty, and I almost walked off the side of a bridge."

"Perhaps those are learned traits."

You do not miss the insinuation. You near-whisper, "I remember what you said about Gimli the day you caught us in Mirkwood. It might interest you to know that you and him become best friends."

"Is that what your foresight tells you?"

"Yes. And it would be childish to an artful degree to remain enemies just because I mentioned otherwise."

Legolas' quiet chuckle is musical. "Your wit is neither of the Elves nor the Dwarves."

"It's a custom feature so I can use it to deal with both of them, because _let me tell you..._"

The fellowship stops at the threeway fork. "I have no memory of this place," Gandalf murmurs. You consider pointing out the right direction, but Frodo needs to get some words of wisdom, and you could use a rest. You make yourself as comfortable as possible on the stone stairs and close your eyes.

"Are you well, my lady?" Gimli asks almost instantly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just fancied a nap. Why?"

"I was only checking."

Something about his tone made you look hard at him. He could not hold your questioning gaze and lowered his head almost in admittance.

"Thorin told you to keep an eye on me, didn't he," you accuse.

"Aye, it's true that King Thorin asked me to watch after you. He also told me not to let you catch on, but you're clearly sharper than he gave you credit for."

"Over sixty years and he still thinks I'm oblivious!" you mutter to yourself. "I do appreciate the concern, Gimli, but I don't need looking after. At least, not in battle. I did almost walk right off a ledge earlier. But don't tell Thorin that. He gets smug when he's right."

"I believe that's what he meant. I never did think you needed help in a fight. Your deeds on Ravenhill are legend."

You blush furiously as several ears perk towards the conversation at the mention of legendary deeds. "They are _not_," you mumble. "I just did what I had to. It's not that big a deal."

"Not a big deal? By my beard! You saved the line of Durin! That is a very big deal indeed!"

Merry interjects curiously, "Are you telling a story?"

You say no just as Gimli says yes, and unfortunately his voice is more booming. You grow increasingly more embarrassed as he regales the entire company (save Frodo and Gandalf, who are having their own conversation) with the story of the Battle for Erebor. He makes it sound so much more heroic than it actually was. You relive the incident through your own eyes: trying to keep up with the more experienced fighters, accidentally riding a troll, almost falling down a frozen waterfall, and managing to keep your loved ones alive through sheer will power and quite a bit of luck.

"It was not that amazing," you insist once Gimli finishes the tale. "I never realized how much that story's been embellished over the years."

"Then you didn't ride a troll?" Pippin demands.

"Well, yeah, I did, but - "

"And you fell over the waterfall and climbed back up?"

"Yes, but - "

"And you almost died?"

"That _is_ exaggerated," you say firmly. "Alright, let me tell you how it really went. I spent a good part of the battle just trying to stay with Thorin and not die. Then I accidentally got carried away by a troll, so I used it to go on a rampage...so maybe that part is as neat as it sounds. Then we went up to Ravenhill to kill Azog and I found out it's really hard to fight on ice."

Boromir asks, "But why did you go with them in the first place? Forgive me, but from what I know of history, it is not often heard of for Elves and Dwarves to align."

"I did it for Thorin," you answer immediately, peacefully. "To ensure he survived, and to ensure he became king."

"Hold on," Sam cuts in, "This Thorin fellow, your husband, he's a king?"

"Yeah. That's what the quest was for, to get back Erebor and the throne."

"Then that makes you a queen!"

The elders of the group chuckle at your aggravation. "No it doesn't, Sam," you grumble.

"But it does!"

"Fine, alright, if I'm a queen, then I very politely order you to pretend I'm not."

"As you wish, m'lady. Or, er, _not_ m'lady."

You squint at Gimli. "Are you pleased with yourself?"

"To have relayed such a tale, aye, I'm afraid I am.

""I'm gonna tell Thorin on you!" you whine.

"With the highest respect, my lady, I have a feeling he would have done the same. He is the one who told the tale first, after all."

You rub your temples. Of _course_ Thorin started the story, especially at the beginning of his quest to gain you acceptance by the people.

"Do not tease her," Aragorn finally says in his ever gentle yet commanding voice.

"No, I would not tease." Gimli bows his head to you. "My deepest apologies. I did not know you wanted your status to remain a secret."

"Yes, alright, fine, you're forgiven."

Gandalf suddenly stands and announces brightly, "It's that way!"

Merry jumps up. "He's remembered!"

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down there. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

You rise and dust off your pants. The rest had certainly not gone as planned - you had _planned_ to take a nap - but you can't quite regret the path it took. Though your identity was blown and you have a feeling you'd endure a few well-meaning honorifics and favors from the hobbits, it was rather nice to just sit and talk with your new friends, especially with the dark turn the journey is about to take.

The corridor leads to an expansive chamber devoid of light. Gandalf's staff blazes, illuminating a mind-bendingly huge hall set with perfectly aligned pillars.

"Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!"

It's an incredible sight that reminds you strongly of Erebor. It's no wonder Dwarves through the ages have been so eager to reclaim it! You can imagine the hall lit with torches and filled with bustling Dwarves. Carts of gold and silver and jewels rush back and forth to be transformed into works of art. Perhaps after the war dies down and the orcs are defeated...

You notice the chamber to the right that would have held Balin's tomb. You nudge Gandalf and nod towards it with a serious look. He does not question you, but merely says, "We will rest there."

You're a bit smug when you walk right into the place where in another life would have been a fine marble tomb. Even if you can't stop Gandalf from plummeting to his temporary death, you still managed to save the lives of some of your friends from a bitter end. The thought is heartening, especially since the beginning of this quest had not gone according to your plan. You don't quite give up hope on preserving a few more lives before the end.

You don't bother unpacking. You know you're only here as long as it takes for Pippin to knock that bucket (sans skeleton) into the well. You casually pace the room until Pippin, who is chasing Merry for the last sausage, elbows the bucket. The resulting crash is less catastrophic than if it would have been accompanied by the corpse, but the crashes still echo through the entire mine. Everyone freezes in horror, except you: you just draw your axe and spin it a few times.

Returning drums rumble in the deep followed by the shrieks of goblins. Boromir and Arargorn rush to barricade the door.

"They have a cave troll!" Boromir mutters.

You move to stand with the hobbits. "Stay close to me," you murmur to them. "Frodo, do not leave my side."

The poor hobbits grip their swords, looking scared.

The door splinters as the orcs and goblins begin to break through. Legolas fires a few arrows through the breach. The rotted doors cannot hold back the onslaught: it finally shatters completely, and in spew the goblins and one very large cave troll. You immediately get to work cutting them down and keeping an eye on the hobbits, especially Frodo. They do the best they can to aid you. You keep them in a far corner to prevent rear attacks.

It occurs to you that your plan to keep Frodo from getting almost-skewered also keep the hobbits from ganging up on the troll, leading to its death. It's an easy fix; you call to Legolas in Elvish, "_Legolas, shoot it in the throat! I'll give you an opening!_"

After ensuring the hobbits can hold the corner, you dash lightly through the remaining enemies. You ascend to the second level and at just the right moment jump on the troll's back. It roars in displeasure and tries to remove you, but its arms are too thick to reach behind it. You plant your axe neatly in its skull. It rears back, and Legolas delivers the finishing blow. The troll rumbles its death groan and falls face-first to the floor.

"Yeah!" You yank your axe out of the troll's skull and thrust it in the air. "The Troll Rider strikes again! That was awesome!"

The hobbits cheer at your victory, but the celebration is short lived. More drums boom from further away, indicating another oncoming wave. Gandalf leads the way out of the side room and towards the Bridge of Khazad-dum. You feel your chest tighten for reasons other than fear or adrenaline. It is at the bridge where Gandalf falls...

Goblins swarm like insects down the pillars and from every passage. They surround you, and despite knowing what comes next, the sight is terrifying. More terrifying, however, is the eldritch thunder that resonates from the other side of the hall. The goblins screech in realization and retreat.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir demands of Gandalf.

"A Balrog," Gandalf replies heavily. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

The fleeing continues down the dizzying flights of stairs. After jumping the gap in the stairs, the even more imposing Bridge of Khazad-dum lies in stark contrast with the endless drop all around it. Suddenly you're less worried about the ancient abomination behind you than you are about making one false move. You're the last one to cross before Gandalf stops to make his stand. You can't help but turn and watch the scene unfold.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf shouts commandingly. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Arnor. Dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun! Go back to the shadow!"

The Balrog slashes at Gandalf with its flaming sword, but it cannot break the bubble of blinding white light shielding Gandalf.

"You shall not pass!"

Gandalf brings his staff down with an echoing crack. The Balrog very foolishly calls his bluff and advances on the bridge. The stone crumbles from beneath the demon's feet. All is almost fine - then, of course, the tip of a whip yanks Gandalf over the edge.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cries in horror.

"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf orders. In the last second before he lets go, his grey eyes meet yours. You could swear there's the fraction of a smile in their depths. Then he disappears into the abyss.

You look away as Frodo yells and fights Boromir's grasp. Known or not, resurrected or no, you hadn't expected it to be this hard. You shepherd the hobbits up the last flight of stairs and into the cold, too-bright light of day.


	28. Lothlorien

Fun fact about the author: my favorite name for Lorien is the Ents' name of Laurelindorenan, and I almost named the chapter that, but I figured it would be a little too obscure for some people. Btw I remembered how to spell that since the last time I read the book, which was in 6th grade. I'm too good.

Also! To address a very good question: some lovely reviewer asked if you and Thorin have a child. I actually debated long and hard about whether or not to have y'all have a kid, and I decided on no for the sole reason that it would be bad writing to just mention a kid this late in the game. Could I technically still do it? I have a plan to, so I could, but lbr it's not a huge deal. Fili is still alive and well to succeed Thorin, so the line of Durin is still on the throne. So if within like the next 2 or so chapters I don't introduce a kid, y'all don't have one. Great question friendo!

Also also, YO WHEN THEY GET OUT OF MORIA THAT'S GOTTA BE WHERE AZANULBIZAR HAPPENED! I got excited about that bc I literally only care about Hobbit characters oops

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The fresh air of the mountainside is crisp and cold; the sunlight is glaring but offers little warmth. One by one the hobbits drop, overcome by grief. Gimli must be physically restrained from returning to the mine. You yourself stare soberly at the snow-dusted rocks. You recognize the place despite having never been there: it must be where the Battle of Azanulbizar took place. It is ironic that you would come here now, given the circumstances. Would this place ever be free of the heaviness of death?

"Legolas, get them up," Aragorn says flatly.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir exclaims, his own voice thick.

"By nightfall these woods will be crawling with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up."

You rise and take a deep breath. It won't do for you to be upset, especially since you knew of the fall long before the beginning. You lift Merry and Pippin and hug them tightly. "Dry your faces, now, hobbits," you murmur gently to them. "There's some brave lads. It will be okay."

The pace is quick to break into the treeline before night. There's a subtle shift the further into the woods you go: the air is warmer and sweet-smelling, and a hard-to-place peace takes hold of your thoughts. You may be the only one experiencing this, however, as the hobbits are still upset and the other elders are on guard.

Once Aragorn is sure the orcs will not follow, camp is made and a fire is started. The hobbits go to bed quickly. You're headed that way - you're exhausted from the day's events - but something about the body language of those still sitting around the fire draws you in. You approach them, and though no one had been talking, it's like they'd quickly hushed a conversation.

"Did you know?" Aragorn asks quietly.

You don't need clarification. "I did," you say heavily. "He did, too. I warned him of what would happen. He said it was necessary."

"Was it?"

"Unfortunately." You look seriously at Aragorn. "Do you blame me?"

"No. I know your heart is good."

"I would have saved him if I could. I told him to go over Caradhras - "

Legolas cuts you off gently, "You do not need to explain yourself. You are not at fault."

"I - " You almost say that you feel that way regardless, despite knowing all you do and having given Gandalf other routes, but you're not quite down with spilling your heart to them just yet. Instead you nod once and head to bed.

The sleep is more restorative than expected, perhaps due to the influence of the Lady of the Wood. The daily trek begins through thick, tall trees that are each a work of art. The layer of leaves on the forest floor is soft and springy. The sunlight filters through the canopy, bathing the world in a vaguely golden light. It's the most peaceful the journey has been or will be.

Gimli breaks the silence. "Stay close, young hobbits. They say a sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-Witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again!"

"Well, Gimli, what must you think of me?" you joke lazily.

Legolas almost smiles as Gimli blinks. "Begging your pardon, my lady," he says, "but this sorceress is not as benevolent as you."

"Benevolent! Ha, that's sweet of you. But the Lady of the Wood means us no harm. You'll see that."

"I would rather not! This is one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

Cue the welcoming party. You don't even flinch as you nearly walk into the business end of an arrow. You wonder if it's simply Elvish tradition to appear out of nowhere and "greet" strangers with weapons drawn.

Haldir says disdainfully, "The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

"Haldir of Lorien!" Aragorn bows his head. "_We come here for help. We need your protection._"

"Aragorn, these woods are perilous. We should go back!" Gimli says tensely.

Haldir says, "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back. Come...she is waiting."

You're happy to be escorted by the Elves into Lorien. The scene that meets your eyes as you reach the top of the hill is nothing short of ethereal. The silver-barked Mallorn trees are as thick as skyscrapers and just as tall. They luminesce like stars, complimented by various lanterns. There is a quiet, sourceless singing in the warm air.

Haldir leads the company up and up and up a seemingly endless flight of stairs built around the trunk of a tree. The stairs finally level at a beautiful flat filled with soft silver light. Celeborn and Galadriel descend weightlessly, as if floating. You lower your head out of respect, awe, and a bit of fear.

"Eight there are, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him," Celeborn says.

"He has fallen into shadow," Galadriel murmurs. Aragorn's expression confirms her words.

Galadriel continues to speak, but you remember that she's also going through everyone's heads. You hasten to line up your thoughts, to remove all traces of your far past, the past you cannot presently even think of for want of not losing it. You turn to Erebor and let memories of its polished walls and glittering depths and beloved king fill your mind. Thinking of Thorin calms you enough to be almost unaware of her presence.

"_You needn't hide_," she says, and her voice echoes weirdly in your skull. "_I know of your gift...but...that is not what you are trying to conceal._"

"_It's my past_," you confess, still trying not to let the details linger. "_You would not believe me if I told you. But it's nothing evil, I swear._" You manage to briefly glimpse the faces of your parents without bursting into tears as proof.

"_So I see_." Galadriel leaves it at that.

"...Tonight you will sleep in peace."

Later, after being treated to dinner, you splash your face with cold water from the fountain. The exchange with Galadriel was exhausting. The mental hoops you had to jump through to remember without remembering were extraordinary. And it had been so long since you'd been able to even think of your parents...

You shake your head firmly and recall instead the evening Thorin proposed. Doing so makes you wonder if he received the letter you sent just before entering Moria; you'd realized that you hadn't written to him since leaving Rivendell, and that he'd likely have the entire Dwarf population out searching for you. You hope it'd been long enough that the raven could even reach Erebor.

"Lady Aniel?"

You look up to see Boromir. "Yes?"

Boromir seems troubled, but is not in a hurry to get to the heart of the matter. "Am I bothering you?"

"Not at all! You can have a seat, if you like."

It turns out that the invitation is exactly what Boromir needs. He sits heavily, his shoulders slumped with invisible burden. "I'd like to ask you, if it would not be amiss to do so, about your visions."

"I'm an open book. Ask anything you like."

He stares at the ground. "The Lady Galadriel, she spoke inside my head of my father and the fall of Gondor. She says there is still hope left even now, and Aragorn seems to share the belief, but I cannot see it myself. Have you seen anything? Is there anything you can tell me of the future of the White City?"

You smile. "As a matter of fact, there is."

He lifts his head almost hopefully - _almost_.

"Everything I know comes to pass eventually, so take heart: Gondor will endure, and you will see her glory days renewed."

"Could it even be true?" Boromir murmurs.

"It _is_ true! There will be hardship and loss, but Gondor will outlast it all. Hold onto that when your hope is low."

"It sounds like a dream, to good to be real."

"Yes, it does..." You gaze off into the silvery canopy. "There will be peace again one day, but we all must work to achieve it."

"Thank you for your words. It is better news than I ever expected to hear. You are wise beyond your years, Aniel."

"No, I'm just a very lucky girl with motivation beyond the will of the Dark Lord."

Boromir half-smiles. "That's quite a claim. What could such a motivation be? I should like to share its drive."

"Love," you answer simply. "My love is for Thorin. Your love is for your people and your city. Love can make a person do crazy things, but sometimes those crazy things involve saving the world."

You drift off to sleep on your pallet. The slumber is deep and peaceful until a silent voice calls you back to consciousness. There is a figure crouched by your side. Once you register the faint glow and cascades of golden hair, you gasp and sit up. "My lady!" you exclaim, not meeting her eyes. "Is there something you need?"

"Will you walk with me?" Galadriel asks calmly.

"I - yes, of course..."

You tug on your boots and wrap your blanket around your shoulders. Galadriel leads you to the clearing where she has or will meet with Frodo. The two of you sit on the ledge of the fountain.

She begins, "I have heard a great deal about you from Lord Elrond. I am glad to finally see you in person."

"The honor is mine, my lady."

Galadriel smiles softly. "You do not need to be afraid."

"I'm not! I mean, I am, but - I deeply respect you and your power."

"As I respect yours. Your gift is great, young one. One may even go so far as to call it a burden."

"Even when it's useful, it's not easy. I have to look out for hints that a particular event is happening, then decide how to navigate the event, then think about future events and if I may have changed them, and - but you already know what it's like," you realize.

"It is good that you understand that foresight can be changing. As I hear, you ensured that Thorin Oakenshield survived to become king."

You blush and look down.

"Lord Elrond also relayed to me the things to come in this war. That you have chosen to share this information is very telling of your character."

"I just want to help. That's why I came with Frodo. I figured I could spare him and others some less fortunate situations."

"We are with you, Aniel. The White Council will do what we can to aid you."

"Aid me?" You look up at her, confused. "What about Frodo and the rest of the fellowship?"

"It seems you have everyone's best interests at heart, so by giving you all the support we can, it will effect good further than we can reach."

"Oh. Well. No pressure, eh?"

"If it's any consolation, the Ringbearer still has more weight to carry."

"It's...not, really, but thank you for trying."

Galadriel looks down at you. "I would ask only one thing of you."

"Oh, of course, anything."

"I would like to know of your past. You have hidden it from many, I understand."

The cold sweat starts immediately. "I - I can't," you gasp. "My past is the one thing I can't talk about. I can't even think about it. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I would tell you of all people, but it would ruin everything - it would - "

You curl in on yourself as the past you've blocked off clashes with the reality you've come to know. Humans versus Elves, electricity against torches, reality fighting fantasy. _This world is not fantasy, it's real! These people are real, Thorin is real, it all matters - _

Galadriel's cool hand touches your shoulder, and immediately the noise in your mind quiets. You gulp in a few deep breaths and choke, "Thank you."

"I did not mean to cause you distress," she says penitently. "The matter is clearly a burden on your heart."

"I've just...tried to forget about it. It's complicated. B-But I'm not hiding it because I'm evil or anything!"

"No, that much is clear. Still, I am sorry. Perhaps a glimpse of your husband will soothe you."

You perk instantly. "Thorin? I can see him? Is he here?"

"Not here, no. But if you look into the mirror, you will see him."

"Oh!" You'd forgotten about the mirror's powers! "Yes, I'd love to, thank you!"

Galadriel fills the silver basin with water. You eagerly look inside. The water ripples and shows Thorin sitting at his desk, reviewing stacks of parchment by candle light. Your heart swells just seeing him.

"Uncle!" Kili bursts in with a letter in hand. "A raven just came with this. I think it's from Aniel."

Just as you had been, Thorin is instantly alert at the sound of his beloved's name. "From Aniel? Let me see!" He rips open the envelope to see your handwriting and murmurs a curse and blessing. "I was about to go look for her myself!"

"Uncle, Mother told you that - er, nothing." Kili stops himself at an annoyed look from Thorin. "I'll just go back outside. Give her my love."

Kili scurries out only to be replaced almost immediately by a nightgown-clad Dis. "Still up, brother?" she yawns.

"A letter just came from Aniel. I haven't heard from her since she left." Thorin squints at the paper.

"Give it here, Thorin," Dis says gently, laying a hand on his arm. "You're tired, and the light is dim. I'll read it to you."

"You would take that risk?" Thorin jokes wanly. You blush, embarrassed that he would insinuate such things to Dis.

Dis ignores him and takes the paper. She begins, "My Dearest Thorin: I'm sorry I haven't written - "

"She should be," he grumbles.

" - but we've been busy traveling. It's been a good run so far. All my new friends are really nice. I'm so glad to have Gimli around. It makes a huge difference having a Dwarf to talk to and relate to. And - I know you don't want to hear about it, but I'm telling you anyway - Legolas is also great now that he's had a major attitude adjustment.

"I'm writing now because we're about to go into Moria - "

"She did _what?!_"

"Hush, Thorin! ...because we're about to go into Moria. It should be fairly easy since Balin never attempted to reclaim it. I'll look for your letter when we get to Lorien. I'd write more, but there's not much to say.

"I can't wait to be home again with you. I miss you more and more every day. Please be good and stay safe and try not to worry too much. I love you more than any language has words to say. I'll see you as soon as possible. Yours eternally, Aniel."

"Moria!" Thorin rants. "I had no idea we stopped Balin from going just so she could take his place! I cannot believe..."

"Oh Thorin, go to bed," Dis says firmly.

"I have to respond first."

"You can respond in the morning. Aniel would want you to sleep. You know I'm right."

"I am not a child," he growls, but nonetheless snuffs out the candle and heads to bed.

Dis lays the letter on your usual pillow and tactfully leaves the room. Thorin falls asleep with his fingertips on the passage that bears your love. The darkened scene fades back into the silver bottom of the bowl.

You look up, smiling contentedly. You had leaned forward so much that the tip of your nose is wet. Just seeing Thorin being his usual difficult self makes the upheaval of minutes ago seem like it never happened.

Galadriel smiles as well. "Your love for Thorin will change many lives, young one," she says kindly. "Such love spans time and distance and hardship. Go with love, Aniel."

You bow your head. "I will."

It's difficult to leave Lorien after having grown re-accustomed to baths and safety during the night, but the journey must go on. As you wait in line for Galadriel to hand out parting gifts, you finger the leaf clasp of your new cloak, wondering what Thorin would make of its craftsmanship.

Galadriel stops in front of you last of all. "I'm afraid I did not know what to give to you, young one," she says. "Whatever you ask of me, I will do my best to see it done."

You lower your head. In truth, there had been a certain matter on your mind for a very long time. You never thought you'd have the chance to ask anyone about it, but now the chance has been handed right to you. "There is only one thing I would ask," you say quietly, "but it is a very big thing."

"Name it."

"One day, you and Lord Celeborn and Lord Elrond will sail to the Undying Lands. You'll take Bilbo and Frodo with you. My request is to be allowed to come with you."

"That is not such an outlandish request."

"Me _and_ Thorin."

Galadriel's eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly.

"It's just that I cannot live without him," you say desperately. "Dwarves have long lives, but they're not immortal. I am. If I lose him, I'll waste away in heartbreak. But if Thorin cannot come, then I will not go."

Galadriel is silent for a moment. You're almost afraid you've angered or offended her with the request. Finally she says, "Your capacity to love is beyond that of most, young one. If you come back from this quest, and if Thorin consents, you will have a place on that ship."

"*_Hanon le, hiril vuin!_" you exclaim, bowing almost to the ground. "I won't disappoint you!"

Galadriel finally smiles. "Of that I am sure. I look forward to seeing you again. Have strength, Aniel. _Namarie_."

You board the boat with Gimli and Legolas, partially for their company and mostly to keep them from killing each other. Slowly the haven of Lorien disappears as the swift waters of the Anduin carry you back into the Wild.

You look back with a twinge of regret. "It was beautiful there," you murmur.

"Aye," Gimli agrees quietly.

You giggle. "Oh, that's right! I'd forgotten you've changed your mind about Lady Galadriel!"

"Indeed I have, my lady. Henceforth I shall call nothing fair lest it be her gift."

You grin at Legolas, who smiles back understandingly. "Well, good," you say. "I'm glad at least one Dwarf has started to branch out."

"Perhaps it is only Elven nobility that is bearable."

"Legolas is prince of Mirkwood," you return smugly.

"Is that a fact?" Gimli looks back at Legolas, surprised. "I would not have known."

"I've been traveling," Legolas says pointedly.

"We've all been traveling, Master Elf."

You laugh loudly at this, and Legolas looks down quickly to hide his amusement. You're thrilled that they're finally starting to get along, even if it is over jokes at the other's light expense. If only Thorin were so amiable, you think with a fond smile, then perhaps you wouldn't have to remind him not to start wars in your absence.

* * *

*Translation: _Hanon le, hiril vuin - Thank you, beloved lady _(Mahal bless arwen udomiel. com tho)

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I SHOVE THORIN IN AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY OF COURSE I DO FIGHT ME

also gimli's massive crush on galadriel gives me life. his line "henceforth i shall call nothing fair..." is from the book as well, and i always did love it. i love this dumb franchise.


	29. The Parting of the Fellowship

Bit of a short chapter here, but hey, we're moving right along into Two Towers! Go us! we're 2/3 and almost 30 chapters in! Let's kick some ass!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The boats land at the edge of the woods of Parth Galen just before the great waterfall on the Anduin. Aragorn says, pulling his boat ashore, "We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the North."

You help set up a temporary camp as Gimli voices his displeasure at the road ahead and Pippin listens in horror. You'd like to reassure them that they'd never go on to see that path, but you need to play things close to the vest at the moment. These next few hours are crucial to the development of the rest of the quest and indeed the war. You must make sure Frodo has a chance to leave with Sam and that Merry and Pippin are taken by the orcs, but be in place just in time to save Boromir. You huff as you set a pack on the beach. Sometimes it's obnoxious to keep up with so many threads of a situation.

Merry breaks your reverie with a well-intentioned, "Where's Frodo?"

And that's your cue! You'd actually meant to sneak away with Boromir and join him after he'd regained his senses, but you're too late for that. You hop up and jog into the woods. The others follow close behind. You pause several paces in, realizing that you have no idea which way to go.

Aragorn has that covered. "Fan out," he orders. "We must find Frodo."

Well, it's a start. You pick a random direction that no one else chose, hope it's the right one or close to it, and start turns out foresight is useless in this situation. All the trees and boulders and ruins look the same. You could be right next to Boromir or in the exact opposite direction for all you know. The sudden distant sounds of clanging and shouts make you panic a bit. Your window of opportunity is running out to change destiny once again.

You collide with what must be an unseen stone, as it hits you around midriff. You grunt and fall on your backside; the stone reacts similarly. "Frodo!" you gasp, moving towards him at once.

Frodo backs up quickly, gazing at you warily.

"Oh, no, Frodo, it's okay!" You hold up your hands peacefully. "I know what Boromir did and I know what you're about to do. It's alright."

Poor Frodo looks absolutely miserable. "I must, though I am afraid to."

"You don't need to be afraid! You'll do perfectly!"

"You know so much...Aniel, you could take it, you could destroy it..."

The ring glints in his outstreched palm. You blink at the offering, completely blindsided. You knew he offered it to Aragorn, but to be presented with the same opportunity! You of all people, who knows every step between now and the fall of Sauron, who knows the intricacies of the ring as well as the Dark Lord himself! What could you do with such knowledge, such power? Surely the possibilities are limitless...

"Ha! Well, that was interesting to think about." You close Frodo's fingers into a fist and smile warmly at him. "My role was never to take over as Ringbearer, Frodo, and even if it was, I'd never do as good a job as you. Listen to me, because I haven't much time to spare - you will succeed. You will face so many obstacles and overcome each of them. It will be terribly hard, but you _can_ do it. Just remember that when you feel like giving up. I have seen this beyond a doubt, and I will see you again."

Frodo nods once, his eyes brimming with tears. You kiss him quickly on the head before he dashes off.

The horn of Gondor rings through the trees just then. You leap up, heart racing, and sprint in the direction of the sound so quickly that your feet barely touch the ground. You hadn't counted on running into Frodo - the time spent talking to him might have been the time you had to save Boromir -

You fly past the orcs, who have no time to attack. You only have eyes for the big Uruk-hai, Lurtz. His familiar form jumps out of the crowd and you tackle him headlong like a possessed rhino. He never sees you coming. You make sure he is extra dead before rising to deal with the rest of the orcs. Once Aragorn joins the fight, you abandon it to seek Boromir.

He is on his knees with, you're relieved to see, only one arrow sticking out of him. The long black shaft protrudes from his shoulder. He seems stunned with pain until you grab him to lay him back, at which he grabs your wrist and tries to stand. "The little ones," he gasps, "they took the little ones!"

"I know, I know. Just stay still."

"We have to go after them!"

"We will, but first I need to tend to your shoulder."

"I can still fight - "

"Boromir!" you say sharply. "Lie down before I hurt you more!"

"No. Leave me. Go after the Halflings. I am dishonored. I have broken my vow to protect Frodo."

You finally meet his eyes and say quietly, "I know."

"And you would still aid me? No, I will not have it." He tries to push your hands away. "Your duty lies with Frodo, not with me."

"Frodo is gone. He's left with Sam to continue to Mordor alone."

"I drove him to such an unwise path," Boromir laments. "Leave me to die, my good lady. It is no more than I deserve."

"No, you deserve to live, which is why I tackled that orc. But perhaps you can take some solace in _this_ \- "

Boromir shouts in pain when you yank the arrow out. The cry alerts Aragorn, who has finished dispatching the rest of the orcs. He kneels by the two of you, shocked.

"Go get athelas," you order him. "I've got things in hand here."

Aragorn does not argue and rushes off immediately. You pour some water from the water skin at your side onto the wound and apply pressure with a wad of your shirt. "You're going to live whether you like it or not," you tell Boromir firmly.

"How shall I go forth from here? To my people it is better to die with honor than to live without it."

"Well you can hardly regain your honor if you don't live, can you? Listen, we need you here. There's still a long way to go. Fight with us, and for all the good you will do, your mistake will be nothing."

Boromir still looks unsure, but Aragorn precludes further argument by returning with the athelas. You clean and bind the wound with all the knowledge of healing you gained from studying at Rivendell. By this time Gimli and Legolas have arrived, and they help you transport Boromir back to the original campsite.

Boromir says almost immediately, "My friends, I must confess to you my unspeakable wrongdoing."

"We know, Boromir," Aragorn cuts him off. "I, for my part, forgive you. The ring's power to ensnare the hearts of Men is no secret. You are none the worse for succumbing."

"But what of Frodo? Aniel said he and Sam have gone to Mordor alone. They'll never make it."

"They will," you say patiently. "This was always how it was meant to be, Boromir. We have business elsewhere."

"The orcs have taken the hobbits," Legolas says. "Unless we go after them..."

"We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death, not while we have strength left," Aragorn says firmly. "We will leave with the light."


	30. Plain and Forest

Wow, guys. 30 chapters. That is a LOT. Thank you for being here every step of the way. Also thanks to the interwebz for posting the transcripts of these movies so I can just copy-paste because like hell am I going to dig to the Balrog depths of my memory for all of this dialogue.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The cool wind whips over your face and through your hair as you fly over the endless plains. You'd never been able to run this long - no normal person could run this long - but your Elvish stamina has opened a new world.

The travel schedule is a bit less strict to accommodate Boromir, who is still wounded, but your fragment of the fellowship still spends most of the sun-lit day at a quick pace to catch up with the orcs. At least, such was the current agenda. You know that after a pit stop in Fangorn to pick up Gandalf, the destination will change to Edoras.

The sun sinks below the flat horizon. Aragorn chooses a cluster of large boulders in which to make camp. A small fire is lit to keep warm and raise morale, and finally you get to relax.

After dinner, Boromir, whose mood has greatly improved thanks to understanding friends and the promise of redemption, says to you, "Finish your story from last night, Aniel."

You wrinkle your nose. "I was hoping you'd forget about that."

Surprisingly, it is Aragorn who says slyly, "None of us have forgotten."

The story in question was an accidental telling thanks to an exchange from yesterday morning. Aragorn had offered to let you lead the way, having assumed you _knew_ the way. You'd laughed and said, "We'd end up in the ocean. I've got no sense of direction. I got lost in Erebor once." Gimli especially wasn't about to let that go, and the others were very interested in the details.

"Fine," you sigh. "Where'd I leave off?"

"Day two," Boromir says a bit excitedly.

"Right. So it's the second day of being a disturbing type of lost. By this point I knew I'd better ration what was in the picnic basket, because I was in _deep_. It honestly looked like Moria, that's how far down I'd gone. Sure, you'd think that I'd remember the way to the forges, but in my defense, Thorin had led the way and we were being chased by a dragon. At this point I was just walking up any flight of stairs I found, because up had to be better than down. I figured if I kept going up, I'd eventually get back to civilization. _Two more days pass_."

Your audience laughs heartily.

"Yeah, I know. Two days later and I just turn a corner and _bam_, Dwarves and torches and life everywhere. Wasn't a moment too soon, either - I was down to two pickles and half a loaf of bread. I asked a Dwarf for directions outside, because at this point I cared less about finding Thorin than I did about seeing sunlight. Bless them, they literally carried me to the throne. Apparently Thorin had search parties out looking for me. And that's the story of how I got lost in my own home and was forced to take an escort any time I went more than five floors in either direction for a good seven months."

Gimli says grandly, "That is a beautiful story. I believe I remember that - rumor was that the queen had gone missing. I never did hear of what really happened, though, until now."

"Yes. What really happened is that I have no sense of direction and Erebor is bigger than the mind can even begin to conceive."

Your story is enough of a bedtime tale for them. You watch the fire burn low in the night and reflect that for as bad as things will get, it's a very nice night to be out camping with friends.

Aragorn finds Pippin's leaf clasp early the next morning, and that afternoon you cross into Rohan. The plains there are similar to those surrounding Rivendell: dotted with boulders but mostly flat, and therefore easy to see over. Therefore you're able to give Aragorn a pleasant forewarning: "There are riders coming our way."

He calls across the plains, "Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

The company wheels around and surrounds your small group. The spears angle threateningly inward, but you're not bothered; you're alone in that aspect.

Eomer asks sharply, "What business do two Elves, two Men, and a Dwarf have in the Mark? Speak quickly!"

Gimli responds in typical Dwarf fashion, "Give me your name, Horsemaster, and I shall give you mine." You roll your eyes.

Eomer squints at Gimli and dismounts. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a bit higher from the ground."

"You would die before your stroke fell!"

You wonder for a moment how many fights would be avoided if only there were a bit less testosterone in the group.

Aragorn quickly defuses the situation. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, Boromir of Gondor, and Lady Aniel of Erebor. We are friends of Rohan and of Theoden, your king."

Eomer deflates a bit, clearly over the brief bout of temper. "King Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin." He takes of his helm and nods slightly at Boromir. "It is a pleasure to greet a son of Gondor in this time."

"And an ill time it must be! What ails King Theoden?"

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that, we are banished." He looks to Aragorn. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are not spies," Aragorn says firmly. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

Gimli is aghast. "But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small, only children to your eyes."

Eomer shakes his head. "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them."

"_Dead?_"

"I am sorry," he confirms. As an afterthought, he rounds up the free horses - four of them, conveniently enough. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their late masters. Farewell."

You smile and pet one's nose. It will be so nice not to run anymore.

Eomer mounts his horse and adds, "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope. It has foresaken these lands."

The company gallops off to the north, leaving stunned silence in their wake.

"What wretched news," Boromir murmurs, his head downcast. "Then this entire quest _has_ been for naught."

"No, don't worry," you say quickly, "Merry and Pippin aren't dead. They're off with a new friend and are quite safe. We'll see them again later."

"Then where do we go from here?" Aragorn asks, stunned by this information.

"If you'll trust me this once to lead the way - I'm sure I can't get lost between here and Fangorn."

"Fangorn!" Gimli exclaims. "What madness drives us there?"

"Not maddness, Gimli, an old friend. Come on!"

You run with new energy now that you know where you're going. The air becomes close and stale upon breaking into Fangorn Forest. You look up at the towering trees with awe. They're different than the ones in Mirkwood, more twisted and gnarled.

Legolas notices it, too. "This forest is old, very old. Full of memory - and anger."

Unearthly groans move through the trees. Gimli grasps his axe close.

"The trees are talking to each other!"

"They're telling you to put away your axe, Gimli," you tease. Gimli quickly lowers it. "Now, I think he's over - "

"Aragorn, _nad nâ ennas!_"

"_Man cenich?_"

"Or you could ignore me," you mutter. "Guys, it's just - "

"The White Wizard approaches!"

"Oh my _god_." You roll your eyes again and cross your arms. Only Boromir seems to notice your casual reaction to the situation; he lingers near you, unsure of whether to join in the attack. You look up at him and say primly, "You know, I'm going to let them. Serves them right."

"It is...not Saruman, is it?"

You shake your head.

A booming voice comes from the blinding white light that just disarmed the three great fighters. "You would do well to listen to the lady," he says, and you detect a note of his old humor disguised behind his commanding front.

"Show yourself!" Aragorn shouts.

"Why don't you try attacking again?" you suggest with _all_ of the attitude.

Aragorn looks around at you, caught by your "inappropriately" casual tone.

Gandalf says before revealing himself, "Do not be too hard on their hastiness. These are dangerous times."

Aragorn is taken aback. "It cannot be! You fell!"

"Through fire and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth, until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and every day was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done."

Aragorn turns and looks at you. "You knew!" he exclaims.

"I knew."

"And you did not think to mention it?"

"I'm sorry, Aragorn. Don't be mad. I had a bit more on my mind with Parth Galen, and I knew we'd get here eventually. But I _did_ try to mention it just now..."

"It was my choice, Aragorn," Gandalf says. "Aniel informed me long ago of the possible paths, and I selected the one that would bring us here. I am now Gandalf the White, and I come to you now at the turn of the tide."


	31. Edoras

Oh what fun it is to completely forget to factor yourself in with your foresight! Now with special guest appearances!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The journey from Fangorn to Edoras is a short one. The day has turned a bit chilly, almost as if reflecting what will be found in the Golden Hall. Despite the initial lack of hospitality, you're quite excited to get settled in Rohan, however temporarily. The world of Men is the only one you have not explored in depth, and you're interested to see how it differs from the one you left behind. Plus, making the acquaintance of Eowyn, seemingly the only woman in Middle Earth besides Arwen and Dis, will be a welcome respite from all the men.

The six of you ride through the gates of Edoras. The town is almost silent save for the horses' hoofbeats on the brick road. Everyone is in mourning black - for Theodred, you remember. You wonder briefly if you should have looked into saving him.

"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli mutters.

Attendants take the horses when you arrive at the doors of Meduseld. Hama intercepts the group. He says almost apologetically, "I cannot allow you before Theoden-King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame - by order of Grima Wormtongue."

Gandalf nods in signal to allow the disarming. You cheerfully hand over your sword, bow, axe, and daggers to one of the guards. He blinks at your haul but does not comment.

Hama adds to Gandalf, "Your staff."

And all of the sudden, Gandalf the White is nothing more than a weak old man. "Oh! You would not part an old man from his walking stick?" He looks at Hama innocently.

Hama nods reluctantly and stands aside.

Meduseld possesses a sort of rustic, rough beauty - far from the fairness of Erebor or Rivendell or Lorien, but grand in its own way. The attending guards stare at the bizarre array of newcomers as you pass them.

Gandalf's powerful voice rings out. "The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Theoden-King."

Theoden's response is much weaker and more wavering: "Why...should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"

You wrinkle your nose as Wormtongue takes over. "A just question, my liege. Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. LathspelI, name him. Ill news is an ill guest!"

Gandalf is having none of it. "Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" He raises his staff, and Wormtongue retreats in realization.

"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

The hostile guards, likely those following Wormtongue, attack as Gandalf advances on Theoden. You fight back merrily and with ease, careful not to cause too much lasting damage on the fragile mortals.

"Theoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the shadows."

You absently crack one guard's head against a pillar, now interested in the scene unfolding. Saruman tries in vain to keep hold of Theoden; he is nothing before Gandalf's new power. With a loud *crack*, Theoden is thrown back in his seat and the spell broken. He de-ages in high speed, losing the decades brought on by Saruman's leechcraft. Eowyn runs to his side. You smile at the heartwarming scene.

Theoden reclaims his sword and instantly has the mind to put it to good use. Wormtongue is ejected from the hall and rolls down the steps with several satisfying crunches. His begging is useless. Unfortunately, Aragorn stops Theoden from exacting some well-deserved revenge.

Later, as Hama shows the lot of you to some guest rooms, you say to Aragorn, "I reckon you should have let him."

"What, let Theoden kill Wormtongue?"

"Yeah. Would've made things easier."

Aragorn pauses before his door. He turns deliberately and places his hands on your shoulder. "My good lady," he begins, and you're shocked and amused to hear genuine _irritation_ in his tone, "you may have grown to take your foreknowledge as a given, but in the future, do tell me when an important decision is coming up, especially if it's one I make."

It's a good thing he has a hold of your shoulders, otherwise you would have fallen over laughing. "I never knew it bothered you!" you gasp, wiping your eyes. "Oh Aragorn, I'm sorry! Maybe I _am_ blase about future things, but I'm also used to not divulging unless absolutely necessary."

"And was that not necessary?"

"No, not really. I only said that Theoden playing golf with Wormtongue's head would have made things easier. I have plans for plans, Estel. You needn't be so uptight. You've made very good decisions thus far, and you will continue to do so."

"Then what? Why would Wormtongue's death been preferable?"

You suppose you can give Aragorn a sneak peek as a sign of goodwill. "Well, you would have found out tomorrow, but I can tell you now. With Saruman's orcs attacking villages, Theoden will have the city run to Helm's Deep. Wormtongue knows this, and he will run and tell Saruman. There will be a battle at Helm's Deep."

Aragorn's dark eyes stare into yours. His expression is blank, and his voice is bleak. "You say it so matter-of-factly."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've had sixty years with that in mind. Er, I probably shouldn't tell you any more. I don't want to upset you. But if it makes you feel any better, Lord Elrond knows the battle will take place. I told him the major events of the war so he and the White Council could prepare accordingly."

"What is it like?" he asks quietly.

You don't need clarification. "Sometimes it's terribly fun...and sometimes it's miserable," you say truthfully. "Knowing Gandalf had to fall made it no easier when it happened. But, did you know, Boromir was supposed to die. Three arrows instead of one. I came specifically prepared to fix that, because I knew he deserved to live. So it's a very mixed bag, really. But you're right, maybe sometimes I forget that things I've known for ages are shattering news to everyone else."

Your explanation seems to have relaxed him. He says gently, "You have a great soul, Aniel. I would not want such a power at the disposal of anyone else."

"Thank you, Aragorn. That means a lot, coming from you. You know, I could tell you your part of the story, if you were interested..."

Aragorn smiles and shakes his head. "That, my lady, is something I'd rather discover for myself."

"And what wonders you shall discover, _mellon-nin!_" You clap him on the shoulder.

You rise early the next morning, too eager to explore Edoras to sleep in. You dress quickly and fly through the little parlor so quickly that you hardly register Eowyn right in your path. You swerve to miss her and knock into the table she just placed a bowl of fruit on.

"Sorry!" You exclaim, regaining your balance. "My apologies, Lady Eowyn, and good morning."

"Good morning, my lady..."

"Just Aniel is fine! I was just off to admire Edoras! I've been so excited to get here."

Eowyn smiles slightly. "Your enthusiasm is an honor to us all. Will you have some breakfast before you go?"

You grab an apple from the bowl and thank her before dashing out.

The general mood has not improved from yesterday, but you're so thrilled to be around people that they may as well be singing in the streets. It's not hard to tell that Edoras has seen better days, but then again, so has most of the world. The wooden buildings are sturdy and weathered, and the people are similar. The market, though busy, is much quieter than it should be. Women buy the day's fare, shopkeepers watch their wares, and groups of traders bunch around stalls. The new sun gleams off the coins used to trade and off a very familiar mane of golden hair...

You take off at a dead sprint down the muddy lane, the joyous shout breaking and echoing: "FILIIIII!"

Fili turns not a second too soon to be almost tackled by you. "Aniel?" he gasps incredulously. "What - what are you _doing_ here?!"

"What are _you_ doing here? No, I don't even care, I'm so happy to see you!"

You finally calm down enough to hold a proper conversation - after similarly greeting Balin, who had also come on what Fili says is a simple bartering run. You're momentarily skeptical of the story, wondering if somehow Thorin had sent them, but he could have never known you'd be in Edoras. The three of you catch up in a pub.

"How is it?" you ask eagerly. "How is it home at Erebor?"

"Given the circumstances, very smooth," Balin says. "We are not to venture far except for trade. There are orcs and other unsavory folk in the lands nearby."

Your heart clenches. "Have there been any attacks?"

"No, none, and if there are to be, they will not be soon. Still, we are on our guard."

"Okay, I - I don't want to talk about that. Er, how is everyone?"

At this, Fili grins widely. "You have not heard the news?"

"_News?_"

"Tauriel is with child."

Your shriek of excitement can possibly be heard in Mordor. "Oh, I can't believe it! That's wonderful! How far along? Will the baby be born by the time I get back?"

"Three months, according to Oin. They're working on names already."

You fully intend to slaughter every orc to make the world safe for your new grand-nibling. "And Thorin?"

At this, Balin and Fili roll their eyes and groan in unison. "Unbearable," Fili grumbles.

"He is less than cheerful," Balin agrees.

"He's _moping_. And he's even grouchier than usual. Whatever quest you are on, Aniel, I pray it concludes quickly, for all our sake."

Your heart is pricked for Thorin, but you can't help but laugh. "Is he really so useless without me?"

"Useless is the perfect word for it," Fili huffs. "It's a small comfort, though - Bilbo's written ahead and said he's coming for a visit. Perhaps he'll be able to whip Thorin into shape."

The idea that Bilbo will soon be in Erebor is comforting, mostly because he will be in a safe place. It also doesn't hurt that between him and Dis, Thorin will be forced to function whether he wants to or not. But you do feel bad for him; you're sure you'd be in the same boat if you didn't have so many things to think about. And speaking of things to think about -

"Oh no, what time is it?" You look outside; the sun is getting on in the sky. "Sorry, I have to get back - I'm staying in Meduseld with the others - but I'll see you this evening! Meet be back here! Bye, I love you!"

You run out of the pub and back up the stairs to the Golden Hall. Everyone has just gathered. The two children from the Westfold are being comforted by Eowyn. You do your best to compose yourself and take a seat like you've totally been there the entire time.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash," Gandalf is saying. "All the more potent, for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight!"

Aragorn adds, "You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now!" Theoden paces, agitated. "Eomer cannot help us. I know what it is that you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."

"When last I looked, Theoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

Gandalf recalls Theoden. "Then what is the king's decision?"

Theoden deliberates for a moment more, then says, "We will make for Helm's Deep. Within the walls, we will endure. And we shall go sooner rather than later."

Gandalf fumes at Theoden's lack of cooperation. Theoden muses futher on the logistics of the migration. The hall is silent until you break it.

"You know what," you say aloud, "I bet if we went in a few days, we'd miss the wargs. They'd go back to report to Saruman, leaving the way clear for us, and then there'd be no fight."

Theoden turns and regards you with bewilderment. "I do not believe I have your name, my lady."

"Oh, my apologies! I am Aniel of Erebor, at your service, my lord."

"Erebor? The Dwarf kingdom?"

Gandalf interjects unexpectedly, "Aniel is Queen Under the Mountain and possessed with the gift of foresight."

Theoden's surprise grows. "Is it true?" he asks you.

"It is," you reply, throwing Gandalf an annoyed look.

"Then explain to me what you said regarding the warg attack."

"If we leave now, a pack of wargs will meet us on the way and there will be a skirmish. A pointless waste of lives, really, when we could leave the morning after next and avoid it altogether. But it _is_ your decision, my lord."

Theoden stares at you a little longer, then nods curtly. "The morning after next, then. Perhaps it is better; we will have more time to prepare. I take my leave."

He exits towards the chambers, and Gandalf goes for the door. You and the others run to catch up. "What was that about, telling Theoden all that?" you demand. "I thought I had to keep that under wraps!"

"Theoden is a noble man of strong will, but I fear for him. He will not listen to me, and he will not listen to Aragorn, so perhaps he will listen to you as a woman of royalty and magic."

"Listen to _me?_ I can hardly get my husband to listen to me! Are you seriously putting me in charge of one of the most important battles in this war?!"

Gandalf looks right at you. "Yes."

His seriousness turns your anger to fear.

"For a short time, anyway. Until I can return with Eomer. Until then, their defenses must hold."

"I - but - "

"They will hold," Aragorn says firmly.

"Good. With luck, my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East."

Gandalf gallops out of the stables, leaving you speechless.

Boromir also saddles a horse. "I am off as well."

"Off?" You blink at him. "Where?"

"To Gondor. I will return with aid. Our defenses are strained, but my father will honor his bonds with Theoden even with a hundred men!"

You grab his arm. "Boromir, if you go to Gondor - I mean, I never saw you doing that, so I don't know what will happen - "

Boromir smiles down at you. "Not all of us are blessed with knowledge of the future, but we make do," he says merrily. "I will return, Aniel. And with luck, I will not be late!"

You step back with a whimper. So many things have veered off the path that you're starting to get panicked.

"Plans for plans, remember?" Aragorn murmurs in your ear.

"This wasn't supposed to happen - it was supposed to be you, not me - "

"I will be with you," he assures you. "I will be there if you need me."

"Not if, _when!_"

"When, then. Why don't you go to bed and rest, now. You seem stressed."

"Understatement," you mutter, and exit the stables.

Instead of going straight to bed, you wander the streets in a grump. You can't believe Gandalf has assigned you to be Theoden's advisor, and without even consulting you first! That's an additional pressure on top of making sure the wall is never breached. This battle was supposed to be _easy_, at least as far as battles go. You grumble to yourself about unknowing people mucking up your plans.

"Aniel?"

You look up at the voice. It's Fili, Balin beside him, right in the place you'd told them to meet you. You don't quite have time to change your mood, and they notice.

"What is it, lass?" Balin asks, frowning at your hard expression.

"It's nothing important."

"Now, none of that! Has something gone wrong with your quest?"

"_Yes_," you say bitterly before you can stop yourself, then you sigh. "Well, no, not entirely. It's just that some things are _off_ and I didn't expect them to be. But that's me, not factoring myself in because I'm an idiot..."

Fili throws an arm around your shoulders. "Sounds like someone needs a drink."

The bit of mead and the weight of the stress compels you to tell all to Balin and Fili. You know it's not wise, but once you start, you cannot stem the flow of complaints and fears. "...and I just can't believe he would throw me under the cart like that, like I don't have enough to think about with trying to keep a bunch of stubborn, sword-happy _boys_ in line!" you finish in a frustrated yell.

You wonder if they'd even heard the end of your rant, for Fili starts talking only seconds later. "There isn't time to call for an army from home," he begins.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, no, don't even think about it. You guys can't stay to fight and you're definitely not bringing anyone else."

"So we're supposed to let you go at it alone?" Fili demands.

"We're going to win anyway, so it's fine!" you exclaim.

"Alright, hush now!" Balin calls before you and Fili can get into it. "Lass, you should know that we don't abandon our kin."

"I know. But you're not abandoning anyone. I don't want you to come at all. I'm not above ordering you home."

Fili wrinkles his nose. "You've been around Thorin too long."

"And speaking of, don't you say a word to him!" you say severely. "He'll lose his mind if he knows."

"We can't keep it from him if he asks," Balin protests.

"Then I'll tell him. I'm writing to him before we leave anyway. And about leaving, if your business is done, you probably shouldn't linger."

Fili smiles wryly. "If that were anyone else, I'd be offended." He rises and hugs you tightly. "Be careful, Aniel. Come home."

"I will." And you're relatively confident in your promise...for the moment.


	32. The Battle of Helm's Deep

**Sorry** for the delay! I got writer's block - this far in, can you believe it? But here we are with Helm's Deep! Let's kill some orcs!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

After a very reluctant goodbye to Balin and Fili, you return to Meduseld to gather what few things you have. Before an early bedtime, you write a letter to Thorin to tell him about the impending fight so he wouldn't murder you for having to hear it from Fili.

_Dearest,_

_I saw Fili and Balin in Edoras! I was so excited! I didn't know they would be here! It was so wonderful to see familiar faces. __We had a drink and caught up. You should have said that Tauriel is pregnant! Tell them congratulations and give them my __love. I will be home to see that baby if I have to fight the legions of Sauron to get there._

_On that note, I suppose I should tell you that there is to be a battle. By the time you receive this, it will probably be over, so __there's really no point in getting worked up. We do win, if you're wondering. I just thought I'd tell you myself instead of letting __you hear it from someone else._

_Things are really picking up, which is good on my end; the faster things go, the sooner I get to come home. Please stay safe; __Balin said there's trouble in the lands around the Mountain, and I've never seen how any of that turns out. Don't do anything __rash._

_I love you more than life and can't wait to be back in your arms. Even if we're apart during the day, I see you in my dreams __each night. Please cheer up, darling. I'll be home as soon as possible._

_Yours eternally,_

_Aniel_

You send it off with a kiss and get ready for bed. You use the time before you fall asleep to sort out the future. Gandalf has gone to fetch Eomer - that much is normal - but now Boromir has ridden for Gondor. You don't know whether he'll return in time, and if he does, he may not even live through the battle. That's a catch you haven't had to deal with before: saving a life means it could possibly end at any other moment. All that aside, you're in charge of making Theoden listen to reason once Helm's Deep. You plan to use that office to persuade him to listen to Aragorn, the one of the two of you who actually knows what he's doing. Of course, you mustn't forget to plug up the little niche in the wall...

It's morning after one blink. You wrinkle your nose at the sun peeking in the window. The sleep had been dreamless, so it feels much too short. But there's no turning back time, so you stretch and get ready for the day.

Meduseld buzzes with activity. You munch on an apple while you observe the borderline chaos. People rush to and fro, making ready for the exodus. Eowyn is gazing at a sword she pulled out of an open chest.

You grin widely. "It will be an honor to fight beside you, my lady," you say to her.

"The honor will be mine if it comes to pass," she replies with a more transparent smile.

"If?"

"I will likely be charged with the women and children during the battle."

"You certainly don't sound thrilled."

"It is my duty to do as my king commands, thrilling or not."

"Well," you sing, stepping dance-like around her, "even if you do have to sit this one out, there will be other opportunities for valor..."

Eowyn lowers her sword and regards you as an elder sister might her younger. "You are very like a sprite," she says. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"I'd just hate for you to think that you'll spend your whole life as a court lady, because that is far from the truth."

Eowyn's smile fades and her blue eyes alight. "What is it you know?"

"I'll not give away the specifics - the details are always more rewarding to find out in the moment - but you, my lady Eowyn, will go down in history for your courage and your skill in battle. Your crowning deed will be something no man has ever accomplished nor ever will again."

"You...have seen this?"

"Yes! I certainly wouldn't lie to you! But I don't want to spoil the whole thing. Just know that your time has yet to come, so don't be too disappointed if you're sidelined this once."

"I...I thank you for this, Lady Aniel..."

"Just Aniel," you correct her brightly. "I'd like to be friends, at least eventually, because I have spent way too long around nothing but men."

Eowyn finally chuckles. "I know the feeling. I'll admit I was surprised to see a lady Elf among a band of men. Forgive me, but from what I know of your kind, you do not usually get involved with the affairs of Men."

"Funnily enough, getting involved in the affairs of men is all I do. It's become an unfortunate habit, one I think I'll break when this is all over."

Your new suggested timeline works exactly as you hoped it would. The journey to Helm's Deep is long but uneventful. No wargs attack, but Aragorn notes that they had certainly been around. You can't help a smirk at the boost to your credibility.

Helm's Deep is so impressive that you're shocked it is a creation of Men; the craftsmanship rivals that of Dwarves. The wall rises tall and intimidating and seemingly impenetrable in front of you - and if you have any say, it _will_ be impenetrable. You only take the time to get settled in before collecting Gimli and a wheelbarrow and heading back out.

"We're gonna plug up the hole," you explain to Gimli as the two of you gather boulders. "I need your help to make the rocks fit. I know now Man will be able to do it better. I'm surprised they built this as well as they did. It looks positively Dwarvish."

"It will be my pleasure to help. I see your point about the construction - it's fine work for Men, but the drain is a terrible design flaw. You'd never find such a weak spot in a Dwarf structure."

You and Gimli discuss the finer points of architecture while gathering and carving the boulders. His work is flawless, of course, while yours is less than perfect despite your best efforts. Gimli quietly tidies up your stones while you place the others. By the time you're done, the small culvert has been seamlessly filled in.

"Perfect," you say with savage triumph.

"I'll assume this errand was crucial to our success."

"Of course it was! Now, we should get back inside."

You mount the highest ramparts and gaze out over the future battlefield. It's eerily quiet despite the many people buzzing around behind the walls. Soon orcs will crash upon the wall like water on stone and the seige will begin. You've done all you can to prevent them from blowing the wall. You just hope it will be enough.

Soft footsteps alert you to Legolas' presence. "You're unsettled," he notes.

"Yes. We win, so I don't know why. Maybe it's just the waiting."

"That's comforting," he says with a slight smile. "This would be much harder not knowing if we will be victorious in the end."

"I can imagine."

"Can you? But you've always known."

"Nah, not always. Once upon a time, I didn't know if things would work out the way I wanted because it was all up to _me_ to change it. But it's nice having companions now. More people to share the load."

"And more room for error."

You laugh. "You're a ray of sunshine!"

"You're right. My apologies," he chuckles.

"You're not wrong, though. Other people are so awfully unpredictable. They've set things askew more than once."

"My father once said that the only thing certain is the progression of time," Legolas says, leaning on the rampart. "So even if things don't go exactly the way you planned, there is always another day to try again."

"That's lovely, Legolas."

"Of course, that's assuming you live to see another day."

"That's...less lovely."

As the sun slowly sinks behind the hills, heavy clouds gather to obscure the sunset. Theoden summons you for a final counsel. "I really don't have much else to say," you tell him truthfully. "I've taken care of the only issue I could think of, and your men will fight faithfully to the end. Otherwise, Aragorn has the rest in hand - he's got much more experience in these matters than I do. That's all we need to outlast."

"And will we outlast?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "It may get grim, but in the end, we will be victorious."

Theoden nods once. "Thank you for your words. Your optimism is encouraging."

"That's what I'm here for!" you say cheerfully.

You try to keep that cheer burning as evening dissolves into a dark night. The men and boys armed to fight line the walls. Their gloom is tangible; either Theoden didn't pass on your prediction, or they don't believe it.

"We have a surprise coming," you sing, almost skipping down the stairs to the gate.

"The orcs are no surprise," Gimli quips.

"Orcs, no. Elves, yes."

The Elvish horn rings out just then, compelling them to follow you. The gate swings open to lines and lines of Elves clad in golden armor, Haldir at the front.

"How is this possible?" Theoden is stunned.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together." Haldir looks up to see your group coming down the stairs and smile. "We come to honor that allegiance."

"_Mae g'ovannen_, Haldir!" Aragorn exclaims, embracing him. "You are most welcome!"

Haldir turns to Theoden after greeting Legolas. "We are proud to fight alongside Men once more."

"Thank you," Theoden says, finding his voice. "Your aid is gratefully received."

Haldir gives the order for the archers to line the wall. They move fluidly and almost as one. Before following them, Haldir leans close to you and murmurs, "Lady Aniel, Lord Elrond sents you his thanks and his word that he will continue to help where he can."

"Oh! Thank you, Haldir. I look forward to fighting with you."

He nods with a smile and ascends. You and the others follow into position.

With the sun gone and the stars and moon obscured, looking out over the plain is a much different. While the emptiness of the day was eerie, the thick shadows of night are downright unnerving. Over the swell of the hill comes a wave of pinpricks of light.

As the lights increase, so does the clanking of armor and the rumble of marching, until it looks like all the stars and thunder have fallen to the ground. The sky responds with thunder of its own and a crackle of lightning. Raindrops plink one by one on the armor of the men until the deluge sounds like it's falling on one massive tin roof.

"You could have picked a better spot," Gimli grumbles, straining to see over the wall. Legolas smirks and you contain your own humor.

"Are you ready?" Aragorn murmurs.

"And raring." What else were you supposed to say? "I'll see you when the dust settles."

Aragorn shouts orders to the Elf warriors. The orc leader commands his own troops; they stop only yards away, growling and snarling in anticipation of the bloodshed. You grip your bow, suddenly actually raring to destory as many Uruk-hai as possible.

Gimli hops a bit. "What's happening out there?"

"Shall I describe it to you," Legolas says, grinning down at him, "or would you like me to find you a box?"

You and Gimli both crack up. Laughing feels so out of place in the situation; for just a heartbeat, all of you are back in Rivendell. But it's only a split second: this reality is too pressing to be ignored for long.

The orcs charge after the misfired arrow claims the first victim. They run at full speed towards the wall as though they believe they can ram right through it. With such determination on their part, you know you're in for one furious fight.

The volley of arrows mows down only the first few lines of orcs. The enemy hits the wall and only seconds later ladders appear. Orcs pour up and over the edge. First contact is made, and the battle truly begins.

You set to work slaying any orc within reach of your sword and occasionally pushing over ladders. You devote yourself entirely to the task, since you're pretty sure you don't have any special assignments during the fight. It becomes at once dull and hyper-realistic; each enemy comes and falls in seconds, over and over, but you can't afford to tune out. Each dead orc is just one closer to victory. Through it all, you remember to keep count.

Time passes - you don't know how much - and you see a particularly bright torch moving through the frothing crowd below. It's the Uruk who lights the bombs! Only there's no cozy little niche for the bombs to go. You assume they just piled the explosives in front of the wall and hoped for the best.

"Ha! Try it, bitches!" you shout down at them, beheading an orc with your axe. "Just try it, I dare you!"

The torch bearer reaches the explosives and lights them. You wince as the boom rattles every stone in the wall, then lean over the ramparts to view the damage. There is a massive crater in the wall, but it remains intact. You whoop and jump up and down right in the middle of the battle while also shouting insults at the orcs below in every language you know.

"Your weapons would do more damage," Legolas says from nearby after you yell a particularly shocking phrase in Elvish.

You're not the least bit embarrassed. "They didn't break the wall!" you tell him gleefully. "Blocking the drain worked! All we have to do is last until dawn! Man, this is turning out to be _way_ easier than Ravenhill!"

"Yes, for you, hopefully it will."

"Very funny." You cleave a skull without really paying attention. "I don't plan on sustaining any more injuries; I'll be in big trouble when I get home if I do. By the way, I'm at forty-nine."

Legolas grins. "Fifty-six."

"Oh, _come on!_"

With an unexpectedly sweet victory at hand, you focus less on the fact that there's a horde of murderous Uruks out for blood and more on catching up with Legolas. You jump atop a high rock and start sniping with your bow, stealing some of his kills. Legolas gapes incredulously at your nerve. You cackle and continue picking off orcs from your new position.

The sky ever so slowly begins to lighten, changing from cloudy to black to dark blue to azure. When the colors of a glorious sunrise finally color the top of the hill across the battlefield, you stop firing and look up eagerly. Finally, _finally_, a white figure appears on the horizon, quickly followed by a shining calvary that pours over the steep incline like a flood of cleansing water.

The fighting stops abruptly as the orcs realize the new threat and rush to form ranks. Eomer and Gandalf plow through the orc army like a stampede trampling grass. You cheer into the sky of the new day as the reenforcements make short work of the enemy.

The gate is opened to receive the newcomers. You fly down to the entrance hall as quickly as your admittedly fatigued legs can go. Theoden is greeting Eomer; Aragorn, Gandalf. You run right up to the latter and hug them both.

"We did it!" you squeal, jumping up and down excitedly. "We lasted until morning and we're all alive and _they didn't breach the wall!_"

"What a welcome reception," Gandalf chuckles.

"Were they meant to breach the wall?" Aragorn asks you. His frown signals that he's still in battle mode.

"Yes, but we saw to that. As far as fights go, this was spectacular! It could have been so much worse! Everyone did so well - thanks much to your direction, of course, Aragorn - "

"You perhaps should curb your enthusiasm a bit, my dear," Gandalf says gently. You realize that people are beginning to stare.

"Oh. Right. Okay. At any rate, I'm glad you made it, Gandalf. I'll go now - I have to compare my score with Gimli and Legolas!"


	33. The Dust Settles

Ok we should get a thing straight: if you don't like Boromir, I don't like you. Thank you for your time. Your regularly scheduled announcements include the fact that wE ARE BASICALLY AT THE BEGINNING OF ROTK! We're in the home stretch! Let's keep kicking ass!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You join Gimli atop his small mound of orc corpses. It's probably unsanitary, but you reckon it looks awesome, so you get comfortable a little ways from the peak. Legolas is crouched at the base.

"I rest at a fine ninety-four," Gimli says proudly. "How far behind do you trail, Master Elf?"

"Not by much," Legolas replies with an almost straight face. "I finished at a mere hundred and nine."

You stomp an orc's face in frustration. "Ugh! I got eighty-seven! You guys are the worst!"

"You did well, Aniel, even if you did cheat," Legolas says kindly.

"I didn't cheat! Those orcs were fair game! You just didn't get to them fast enough."

"Even I cannot outrun an arrow."

You stick your tongue out at him.

"The wall held up well for a work of Men," Gimli comments. You follow his gaze to the great gouge that looks even worse in the daylight. "Is that why we blocked up the drain?"

"Yeah. If we hadn't, the wall would have been breached and we would have been driven back to the keep. So by all accounts, we got off easy."

"Good that we have a seer on our side!" he says heartily. "I'd say you'll save us a great many more troubles before this war is won!"

"That's the plan," you sigh, moving a sword so you can lean back comfortably to gaze at the clouds.

Legolas (who you privately think of as squad mother in the absence of Aragorn) soon made you and Gimli get up from basking on the weirdly cozy orc pile to go find Gandalf. Gandalf, along with Aragorn, Eomer, and Theoden, were up in the keep having a post-battle conference. The three of you quitely slipped into place.

"The losses would have been greater had they broken through," Theoden was saying. "Luck was on our side."

"Luck comes in many forms," Gandalf says, winking at you. You smile.

"We will return to Edoras as soon as possible. Despite Saruman's defeat, I would not leave it unguarded longer than necessary. Thank you all for your strength and service this past night."

Theoden continues to give instructions that disperses almost everyone. You consider finding a bite to eat and then dropping unconscious in the most vertical surface available.

"Lady Aniel, a moment?"

"Of course, my lord." You turn back to Theoden.

He looks hard at you. "We were victorious, just as you said," he begins.

You smile. "I take it you had your doubts."

"I did. Forgive me, but it has been long since we had any hope. But now I should like to have your council whenever you would give it."

"I'd be glad to! I'd love to be of help in any way I could."

"Well, currently, you've earned a rest. There are several rooms down that corridor you may have your pick of."

"Much obliged, my lord."

You can forego food for the present. Now that the action has wound down, your body is feeling every thrust, parry, twist, and knock of the past night tenfold. You're suddenly exhausted. You hope nothing important happens for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Your incredible fatigue grants you a deep, long, dreamless sleep. You awake an unknown amount of time later, fully refreshed and utterly famished. You emerge from your den in search of food. The distant scent of stew draws you in. The three old women manning the pot, who had been serving soldiers, offer you a big bowl. You thank them sincerely and devour a full stomach and plenty of energy, you don't know where to begin with the day. You decide on a leisurely walk on the ramparts that were now clear of the bodies that had fallen on them. You're intrigued by the difference day and a bit of cleanup can have on a place that only hours prior was a battleground.

You stop when you hear your name. Haldir is in front of you; the remnants of the Elvish army stand behind him. "Oh, Haldir!" You beam. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Likewise, my lady. The fight was quite nasty."

"Better than what it could have been. Are you heading off?"

"We are returning to Rivendell, yes. Is there any word you would like me to carry to Lord Elrond?"

"My thanks, first and foremost. Tell him that Saruman is no longer a threat, but that Gondor is still in danger. He'll know what I mean."

Haldir inclines his head. "Then we shall depart. It was a pleasure seeing you again under more, ah, friendly circumstances."

"Yes, it was nice to see you, too! Stay safe on the road and thank you again for all your help!"

Theoden comes to personally thank Haldir and see him off. The people of Rohan cheer as the Elves depart. You watch them go with a smile, feeling quite proud that you _could_ watch Haldir go.

"We were meaning to depart as well," Theoden tells you. "You must have been quite tired, my lady."

"Oh no, how long did I sleep?"

"Two full days."

"Did I miss anything important? Someone should have woken me!"

"Not at all. These past few days have been ones of well-earned rest. Now that our strength has returned, we will be able to go home."

You elect to go straight back to Edoras with Aragorn instead of going with Gandalf to pick up Merry and Pippin. The journey back is quite pleasant; it almost reminds you of the days' walks with the company.

You hear the croak of a bird just before a large raven lands right on your shoulder. You jump slightly at the sudden feathery mass right beside your head. The raven simply offers you its right foot, on which a letter is tied.

"Oh!" you exclaim in realization. You untie the letter and stroke the raven's night feathers. "Thank you! I think I have a bit of bread left over from lunch..."

Satisfied with its payment, the raven takes off again.

"How did it know where to find you?" Aragorn inquires as you eagerly tear into the letter.

"My hairpiece." You toss your head to make it shine in the light. "Thorin made it for me with a piece of the Arkenstone. He said it would be impossible to miss from above, and he's been right so far."

Aragorn's lips quirk upwards. "For as much as you speak of Thorin, I should like to meet him one day."

"That would be so much fun! I bet he'd like you. When all this is over, we should arrange something."

Thorin's small, neat script is especially welcome after the grind of a few nights ago. You run your fingers over the dried ink with a twinge of longing.

_Love,_

_I should like a thorough schedule of the rest of your little adventure._

You laugh at this. You can almost hear him saying it in a curt, irritable tone.

_Write back the second you get this. I doubt I will sleep until I know you are safe, assured victory or no._

_Fili and Balin were in Edoras on business, so at least I know your whereabouts. They told me they wanted to stay and fight __but you refused - not that I'm surprised. They've arrived home safely._

_Yes, Tauriel is pregnant and is doing well. Better than Kili, to be honest. He's a nervous wreck, always trailing after her and __and worrying around. It's rather amusing, but I don't tease him - I'd do the same if it were you. Oin expects the child to be __perfectly healthy. Admittedly, I'm a bit excited. It should be interesting at least to have a child around._

_I see Tauriel much more often now, as Dis has taken to her in your absence. I imagine the three of you will be a force to be __reckoned with when you return home. It's hard to be around her sometimes; she reminds me so much of you. I think she __knows, for she's particularly kind when she speaks to me. She must pity me. To be fair, I'm quite pathetic._

_I miss you more with each passing day. Please come home soon._

_With all my soul,_

_Thorin_

You're unexpectedly emotional about his last two lines. They're short and simple, but they convey everything he feels but didn't say. You sigh deeply and tuck the letter in your vest.

"You will be reunited soon," Aragorn says gently, seeing your sudden glumness.

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"But?"

"But I want to see him _now_," you finish softly, childishly.

Aragorn smiles. "I know. It is not easy being parted from the one you love, but love does not know distance."

"Yeah. I guess you _do_ know."

He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Did you think I talked to the walls all the times I was in Rivendell?" You grin at him. "Arwen was very pleased to have another lady around, and I was thrilled to just be in her presence. But you don't need to worry about it either. You get a happy ending."

Aragorn's expression turns distant. "Arwen is sailing to the Undying Lands. Did you not know?"

"What must it be like for all you short-sighted people?" you scoff. "Do you really think the Evenstar has no will of her own? I will tell you now that you and Arwen will be married, and I won't even say I told you so when I catch the bouquet. Estel means hope, and it's about time you had some."

"It is long since I had much hope."

"Can you not believe in me at least? I've got better things to do than lie to you."

He smiles dimly. "It is not in my nature to believe things I cannot see or know for myself. But your conviction is reassuring. I suppose only time will prove me wrong."

You laugh, then sober as a thought that should have occurred to you sooner crosses your mind. "You know what I just realized," you murmur, "Boromir never came back with soldiers."

Aragorn frowns. "I noticed. I was wondering if he met an ill fate. But do you not know?"

"No. Boromir wasn't orginally supposed to survive this far. I'll never know his future from now on."

"All we can do is wait, I suppose. If he does not return before Gandalf and the others, perhaps we should send word to his father."

You wrinkle your nose. That'd be the _las_* thing you want to do, especially since you'd managed to save Boromir once. You'd hoped him surviving might put Denethor in a better mood for when Pippin and Gandalf go to Gondor, but if he'd perished anyway...

You push it out of your mind. You'd just scolded Aragorn for being without hope; you refuse to think anything other than that Boromir will return until it's proven that he won't.

And the very night you return to Edoras, he does.

You're writing your return letter in the main hall when the doors burst open. In Boromir strides with a purpose. You jump up to greet him, but stall as you process his flaming expression.

Boromir kneels in front of a very surprised Theoden. "My lord Theoden."

"My lord Boromir?"

"I return from Gondor begging your pardon. I left to gather forces to aid you at Helm's Deep. I am late and I am empty-handed, and I am ashamed."

"On you feet, son of Gondor. All is well. We received unforseen aid from the Elves and Eomer's men and emerged victorious."

"And for that I am thankful, but I am still in your debt." Boromir rises and begins pacing. "I vowed to return with at least a hundred men, and that was my intention, but my father would give me no soldiers. I urged him, begged him, even shouted, but he did not relent. He said none could be spared. But I believe he has acted dishonorably. This is not the day to forsake the old alliances. I offer you my service, Theoden-king, in repayment."

Theoden is visibly affected by the news, but he merely says, "I receive your service gratefully, lord Boromir, and thank you for your noble quest, fulfilled or not. Be at peace, and take rest here - you must be weary from your ride."

Boromir nods in thanks and heads for the rooms. You quickly fold your letter and tuck it in your vest and hurry to catch up with him. "Boromir, wait a second!"

Boromir pauses in the parlor. "Aniel. It is good to see your face again."

"Denethor wouldn't send men? Why not?"

"I cannot be sure of his reasoning. Our forces are spread thin, it is true, but it has been such for a while. Regardless, it should not have prevented him from coming to the aid of King Theoden." He plops down on a couch, looking dejected. "I wish you would have told me my quest would be in vain."

"I didn't _know_ it would be! When you didn't return, I got worried."

Boromir looks up at you. "You did not know? I thought you know everything that is to come!"

"I...no, not in this case." You sit beside him. "I'll never know your future, Boromir, because you were not meant to have one past the breaking of the fellowship."

Boromir blinks, eyes wide. "The arrow would have killed me?"

"It would have taken way more than one, but yes. But I refused to let that happen. I wanted you to live. You deserved to live."

Boromir stares at you for a moment before smiling very slightly. "You are a true friend and gift, Aniel," he says in a voice quiet with emotion. "I should tell you that my second chance was not in vain. I was able to apologize to Frodo."

"What?!" you gasp. "Apologize to - wait, you saw Frodo?!"

"When my father said that we hadn't the numbers, I rode to help with the battle at Osgiliath. My brother Faramir was called in as well. I was shocked to find that he had Frodo and Sam in tow. There was a third fellow, a sickly, miserable creature, that seemed to be traveling with the hobbits. Once Faramir understood the situation, he let them go. I was able to ask Frodo's forgiveness, and he give it willingly." His smile turns to one of true peace. "I am absolved."

"Oh Boromir, I'm so happy for you. I'm so glad you could set things right with Frodo. And I'm sorry about your father."

The smile fades. "He is not the man who sent me to Imladris. I fear the war is wearing on him, making him cold. I fear for the future of Gondor."

"Gondor does not fall, Boromir. That much is certain."

"But does she stand because of my father, or in spite of him?"

You bit your lip and say delicately, "You should be prepared to make some, er, difficult decisions regarding your father. I'd like to think that he'll be more agreeable with you around, but I can't be sure.

"Regardless." Boromir takes your hand briefly. "I owe you my life more than I ever understood, and I swear to you that I will make the most of this second chance."

"And this is exactly why you deserved it."

* * *

alright let's make a thing clear: if you don't like boromir, i don't like you. thank you for your time.


	34. Divided Again

In honor of breaking 10k views, I present the alternate title for this chapter: oh shit no wait wHAT HAPPENED WHAT'S GOING ON OH MY GOD NO

:) love you guys

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

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Once the others return, there is a victory feast held in honor of those who fell. Though the food is delicious and the spirits high, you can't help but feel a little homesick: no one parties like Dwarves - though Merry and Pippin are fierce competition. They take to a mostly clear table and begin singing drinking songs, much to the enjoyment of the men.

"A merry bunch, they are," Gimli comments, sitting down beside you with a full tankard.

"They _have_ earned it."

"Aye, they have. Still, with a few more Dwarves, we could give them a run for their money."

"I was just thinking that. I've never been to a better party than a Dwarvish party. There's this one song they sang at Thorin's coronation - what was it?" You hum a few bars of it. Gimli picks up the tune with gusto. You find your chest tightening upon hearing Khuzdul for the first time in a long time. You drain your mug forcefully to drown the rising emotion.

"That's the idea!" Gimli chuckles. "But no Elf has ever out-drunk a Dwarf."

You snort and choke on the ale. "Uh, actually - "

"Master Elf! Come and have a drink or two," Gimli calls cheerfully.

Legolas drifts over and returns, "It looks like you have had more than two."

"We Dwarves can hold much more than two pints! But what of your delicate Elvish sensibilities?"

You stifle your growing laughter in your arm. You are going to let Gimli walk right into this and it will be glorious.

Legolas takes an "experimental" pull from a new mug, then blinks at his fingertips. "I think it's affecting me," he says, sounding surprised.

Your peals of laughter rise above even the din of the hall. "Legolas, I can't believe you would - Gimli, he's not - oh my god, I can't breathe!"

Gimli seems a bit concerned at your outburst. Legolas, on the other hand, is also trying not to crack.

"He's putting you on," you explain when you can finally breathe again. "Of course Legoals can drink - he's from Mirkwood!"

"You can drink?" Gimli stares at Legolas, indignant. "*All* Elves from Mirkwood can drink?"

"You have no idea. Didn't Gloin ever tell you how we got out of Thranduil's dungeons?"

"Aye, plenty of times! Master Bilbo snuck in and freed the company, and you escaped in barrels down the river!"

"Bilbo stole the keys from the guard, who was _blackout drunk_, and we escaped in _empty wine barrels!_"

Gimli is roaring with laughter, while Legolas looks vaguely embarrassed. "You needn't go into detail," he tells you pointedly.

"I'm sorry. But that's what you get for teasing Gimli. Acting like you can't drink, ha! You offered me a drink the first time we met, remember that?"

"In my defense, I was attempting to make you feel more at home. I _assumed_ you'd be there longer than you were."

You rub your pink cheeks and continue to giggle. The ale and reminiscing has made you feel warm inside. Yes, the party had been hard earned and well received, and despite the lack of Dwarves, is a very good one.

Of course, matters can not stay light for too long.

You settle down for a nice night's sleep and wake naturally and in a good mood. You stroll into the hall, mind on breakfast, to find a serious gathering already in full swing.

"Understand this," Gandalf is saying, "things are now in motion that cannot be undone."

You blink. You'd completely forgotten that they'd brought the Palantir back with them, and that Pippin had touched it!

"I ride for Minas Tirith. And I won't be going alone..."

You jog to catch up to Gandalf. "You're going to Minas Tirith?"

"Pippin and I both, yes. I take it you know why?"

"Yes, I do. I - I'm sorry, I should have remembered it was last night and stopped him..."

Gandalf, despite his rush, smiles kindly down at you. "You've done nothing wrong, Aniel. Perhaps it is time I go to Gondor anyway. I've heard no news other than that which Boromir brought back, and that is worrisome."

"Denethor won't be very cooperative. He won't appreciate you coming."

"Which is why I'm going as well," Boromir says unexpectedly from behind you. He has already saddled a horse and is loading a sack onto it.

"You're going back?" you ask, surprised.

"I will make my father see reason."

"That may not be as easy as you're hoping."

Boromir turns to you. "You told me once that Gondor will weather the storm of this war and return to glory. Did you mean it?"

"Of course! I wouldn't lie to you."

"Then I will do what I must, whatever I must, to see that come to pass. Perhaps if you come with us, your word will sway my father."

You bite your lip. You hadn't intended on going to Gondor early. "I must stay. I'll come to Gondor later. Anyway, I doubt the word of a stranger would do much good. If anyone has a chance of getting through to Denethor, it's you, Boromir. And I really hope you can."

"I will," he says resolutely. "Thank you for your encouragement. I will see you when you come."

You watch Boromir ride out and Gandalf and Pippin follow. Merry steps up beside you, also watching with an openly worried expression.

You put an arm around his shoulders. "Pippin will be alright," you tell him gently. "You'll see him again soon. We'll all be together again soon."

"All of us? Even Frodo and Sam?"

"You want me to spoil the ending?" You smile wryly down at him.

"Yes," he says softly, eyes still on the horizon.

"Yes. Even Frodo and Sam. I promise."

Merry doesn't seem much more comforted, but that can't be helped. In truth, you're not very comforted either, even knowing the ending. A thousand things could change between now and what's supposed to happen, especially with how much you've altered the timeline. You wish vaguely that you had some books on time travel theory to peruse in what little spare time you'll have.

You spend the next string of days lazing around Edoras. There's nothing to do until the beacon signal reaches Rohan. After so much action, it feels strange to be idle. Something akin to impatience mounts until one afternoon you can't take being inside the walls of Edoras any longer. You leave word with Gimli that you're going for a walk, then pack a knapsack and exit through the front gates.

The cool, fresh winds of the open plains are a welcome change from the closeness of the capital. The breeze whispers its secrets through the long grass. You stop occasionally to grab a long-stemmed wildflower for a crown. This afternoon you are a princess with the entirety of nature as your kingdom.

You stop for a snack and to relax on a particularly flat rock. The sun is dipping in the slightly coloring sky. Clouds roll across it every time it gets too hot on your skin. You munch an apple blissfully. What a way to spend an evening! With nothing but peace for miles, it's easy to forget that there's a war going on.

The wind lifts again, this time lifting the sound of chimes with the rustling grass. The chimes are rather off-key; they sound more like rough clanking than delicate tinkling.

You sit up quickly, heart pounding, and in the distance spy your suspicion: an orc pack of no more than twenty tromping through the plains. Your keen eyesight catches the insignia of a white hand on some of the orcs' helms and shields. They must be survivors of Helm's Deep - _were_ there any survivors? - or a patrol that happened to be absent when the Ents wrecked Isengard. Regardless of their origins, they are presently much too close to you for comfort.

Their projected path seems to be your way back to Edoras. You won't be able to pass them unseen, and taking an alternate route may prove unwise - you were sure to walk in a straight line from the front gates so as not to get lost on the return. You decide to follow them at a distance in case they veer off. You'd stay put until they're out of sight, but the sun is setting faster than you'd like, and you don't fancy finding your way home in the dark. Anyway, you're awfully curious to know where they came from and where they're going.

You flit from boulder to boulder behind them, only daring to come close enough to catch snippets of conversation. From what you can glean, the orcs had already been deployed when the Ents attacked Orthanc. They'd been on the road ever since. You really don't feel bad for them, especially when they decide to rest right in the way. You scowl and park in a clump of particularly thick grass next to a sparse tree.

The orcs talk mostly in Black Speak interspersed with Common. They seem to be both complaining about the lack of food and something they'd been assigned to do. The bickering stops being interesting after a while. Eventually you're just waiting for them to get out of the way.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That shiny thing over there in the grass!"

"I don't see no shiny thing!"

"It's right there! Might be a bit of silver. I'm grabbing it."

You're paralyzed as one of the larger orcs stomps towards you. What could possibly have drawn his eye? You're wearing no armor, and your sword is sheathed, and your ring could never throw so much light - Your hand flies to your hair. _The hair clip_. What had once been the way for ravens to find you from the sky has now given you away to the enemy.

Do you fight or run? If you kill the orc coming towards you, you may be able to run and hide before the others found you. If you ran, how far could you go before exhaustion? More importantly, how far could *they* go? And you'd get lost for certain even if you did outrun them.

With the investigating orc only feet away, fight wins over flight for just a moment. You jump up noiselessly and stab both your daggers in his neck. The orc screeches once before dropping dead, but it's enough - the noise alerts the rest of the group, and your position is blown.

"Catch it!" one bellows.

Heart pounding, you take off in a random direction. The orcs snarl and growl as they chase you down. You have a momentary flashback to the similar situation the company had been in. If only there was a secret gorge leading back to Edoras!

The orcs aren't giving up or even running out of steam. You wonder if it was wise to try to flee. You nock an arrow and fire while still running. You take out a few of them this way, missing more than you hit, until your quiver is empty.

The orcs decide to follow your example.

A piercing pain in your calf makes you trip and fall foward with a cry. You roll over to assess the damage; a black shaft snaps off at the motion, pushing the head deeper. You rip it out and throw it away in fury.

The pounding feet of your pursuers grow closer. You don't have time to move or even hide. You draw your axe and glare up at them as they close in around you.

"Is that it? The She-Elf?"

The largest and ugliest of the pack kicks you over. "It is," he rumbles. "There's the jewel in her head!"

You groan into the dirt.

"Take her weapons and tie her hands."

"What do you want with me?" you demand with more courage than you have.

"Not what we want," the big orc says, "what the Eye wants."

"What? Why does Sauron want me?!"

"And gag her, or this might be a noisy trip."

The orcs are none too gentle as they bind your wrists with coarse rope. One stuffs a nasty strip of cloth in your mouth, making you gag. They carelessly wrap your calf and tie it too tight, making the wound throb.

You're slung unceremoniously over a back and the running continues. You try to angle your head so it doesn't hit armor with each step. As the sun slips below the horizon, the full gravity of your situation sinks into your chilled skin. You close your eyes and exhale heavily. You want to be mad or scared, and eventually you will be, but at the present you're simply defeated by the irony of the one person's fate you never could have known.


	35. Survival Instinct

Excuse me while I just kind of completely rip up the ending of ROTK and throw a rave instead. :D

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

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Your dreams tell you that they're looking for you, but reality holds a solid argument of the opposite. It's been two days of running, two days of burning agony in your calf, two days of surviving on crusty, moldy bread and gross water. You reckon you're almost to the mountains surrounding Mordor. The thought, coupled with the prospect of escaping with your leg in its state, is almost soul-crushing.

The night of the third day you are once again dropped like a sack of potatoes as the orc pack rests for the night. You accept your disgusting rations with no fight. Indeed, you had been as passive as you could manage for the past two days, ever since you put your plan into action. The idea that you'd lost the will to fight would be the orcs's downfall, and you would relish murdering them.

For two days you'd endured the terribly uncomfortable ride thrown over an orc's shoulder without protest. You used the time to very, very slowly cut your bonds with the sword at your carrier's waist. Each step sliced a few more fibers of the thick cord, and you had to be careful not to tug too hard and alert him to your doings. Now the rope is only holding together by a few strands, a fact you hide between your chafed wrists.

You put your plan into action as soon as you're sure everyone except the night watch is asleep. Slowly, so very slowly, you army-crawl through the long grass, moving only inches per minute to ensure you remain undetected. You creep to the orc who carries your weapons during the day and gently withdraw just one dagger. With that one dagger, you are going to absolutely butcher everyone.

It takes at least thirty minutes for you to move into position behind the orc keeping guard by the fire. You stand up only when you are inches from him. In one fluid movement, you cover his mouth and dig the dagger across his neck. Black blood spurts from the lethal wound. He dies with only a quiet gurgle. You ease his body to the ground and move on the the nearest sleeping orc. One by one you slaughter them in their sleep, getting a vicious high each time you take another life. It's a beautiful and very fitting revenge for them completely and possibly permanently messing up the projected timeline.

You leave the leader for last. You pick up your axe before moving to him. You stab the dagger into his shoulder to wake him up. He does so violently; you press him back to the ground with your good foot. "_Baruk-khazad_, bitch," you whisper before planting your axe in his skull. He twitches a few times before going still. You wish someone could have been around to witness that epic line. With the orcs lying dead all around you, you gather the least gross of their blankets and sleep soundly until dawn.

Unfortunately, dawn brings no positive changes, only the realization that you're lost, hungry, and still injured. You consume the provisions with the least mold on them, gather the rest of your weapons, and start limping back in the direction the orcs came. If you go long enough that way, you're sure to find something. But your leg slows your pace by half, and you have to take frequent stops. You hew a crutch from one of the few trees that helps a bit, but at this rate, the final battle will be over by the time you reach Edoras!

The day passes slowly and painfully. You collapse against a rock when the stars begin to appear above. The wound is on fire, and you must save the water you took for the road. If this was how Kili's arrow wound felt, you would have made sure it never happened, bonding moment with Tauriel be damned.

Something crinkles in your shirt when you lie down to try to sleep. Confused, you pat yourself until you discover a folded paper tucked in your vest. You're horrified when you open it - it's the letter to Thorin you were writing when Boromir returned, the letter you never finished or sent. Tears burn your eyes when you read it by the dim silverly light of the full moon.

_Darling,_

_We're back in Edoras and everyone's safe. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Gimli helped me see to that. There'll __be a feast in a few days to honor the fallen._

_If it comforts you to know where I am and will be, soon we'll move to Dunharrow, and to Minas Tirith after that. Two more __battles and I'll be on my way home. It's the final stretch and I couldn't be more excited. You and I will be together again soon, I __promise, and my heart won't rest until then._

You clutch the paper to your chest and cry freely. You are not hopeless - you refuse to die until you see Thorin again - but you are angry and upset and tired and hungry and in pain.

"What use is foresight if you can't see your own future?!" you shout at the stars. They are at fault for all this, after all. "This is dumb! Why did anyone let me outside? Why did I have to go for a walk? Why didn't I know this would happen?"

The stars twinkle on silently. You hadn't expected them to answer, but the silence is still infuriating. You throw a pebble in the air with all your might before curling in a ball to sniffle yourself to sleep.

You'd never had to survive in the Wild by yourself. Every time before you'd been accompanied by someone who knew what they were doing, who could make a fire and cook and lead in the right direction. You've had no fire since striking out on your own. You have no strength or ability to catch a small creature, and you may as well spin and point for all the idea where to go you have. By the third day on your own, your wound has become all but incapacitating despite your best efforts to keep it clean. You're constantly on the lookout for some athelas, but you doubt you'll have much luck in the plains.

You end up sitting on a rock, looking over the plains and contemplating hacking your leg off at the knee. Even without the wound, you doubt you'd have the strength to go on; five days of nothing but bits of stale bread to eat hasn't exactly been a balanced breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You still haven't given up and accepted death, but you can't exactly see a way out of your situation. Unless the eagles magically decide to come your way, you may have to resort to crawling.

Twilight is falling on your perch when you spot another living creature in the distance, the first you've seen since being on your own. You can't quite tell what it is, but you're intent on either riding it or eating it. You suck in a breath and run towards it despite the poignant protest from your calf. All the while you coo at the animal, trying to coax it closer or at least keep it from bolting. When you're a few yards away, you realize it is a fine brown horse, already saddled. Its equipment is from Rohan; you wonder what happened to its rider.

"You are a godsend," you murmur into its neck. It nuzzles your shoulder. "I literally do not care where you take me, as long as there aren't orcs."

You clamber into the saddle and give the reins a shake. The horse meanders in a direction of its own choosing, and since it's not the way the orcs took you, you leave it be. Running to the horse exhausted you, so you lean forward and rest your head on the horse's powerful neck. Its body heat will keep you warm for the first time in three nights.

You doze on and off until the sun rises, at which point you find yourself in a much greener area. There are trees in the distance, old and gnarled, that you recognize as most likely being of Fangorn. A creek bubbles quietly nearby. It is here where Duyam, your horse - you named it the Dwarvish word for blessing, because was it ever! - stops to drink and graze. You tumble out of the saddle and roll into the creek. The water is clear and cool and delicious. You drink your fill and the clean out your wound. It burns awfully at first, then soothes the deep hole.

Duyam grazes while you crawl along the bank of the creek, looking for food. You locate a berry bush near the treeline. You stuff handfuls of the plump, juicy fruits in your mouth and relish the sweetness and texture and the fact that it's not moldy bread. You lie back in the thick green grass with a sigh after stripping the bush. Duyam slowly moves up the river until he's close to you. You pet the hair of his leg absently as you ponder what to do next.

Your top priority is athelas. The arrow, whether poisoned or not, has left a nasty hole in your leg that has not yet begun to heal. On the contrary, it may be close to infection, and infections can no longer just be cured by antibiotics. After you regain use of both your legs, you'll see if Duyam can take you to Dunharrow; surely Rohan's army has left Edoras by now.

"I have to go into the forest," you tell Duyam. "Do you want to come with me?"

He simply continues to graze.

"Suit yourself. Just don't wander off or I'll be really up the creek."

You enter the thick forest with only your daggers. You crawl over the soft forest floor, looking behind every root and under every low bush for some athelas. Finally the small white flowers catch your eye and you whimper in relief. You take the whole plant to use. On the way out, you even find some mushrooms.

Duyam watches with mild interest as you crush the leaves in a handful of water. You press the watery mess right into the wound. The resulting shout of pain echoes across the plains and startles Duyam. You rip of a length of shirt to use as a bandage, and after five long days your injury is finally properly tended to.

"Not bad," you pant to Duyam. "I've survived pretty well, haven't I? Shockingly, this has been a bigger pain than getting slashed by Azog. At least then I had someone to take care of me... Do you think I'm pathetic?"

He snorts into a tuft of grass.

"Thanks. I think I'm pretty great, too."

You wait until your ride is refueled before heading off again. This time you're able to choose a direction with more surety. You head steadily south and count each second before you're back in civilization.

Edoras appears on the horizon. You push Duyam into a run to get there faster. You thunder through the gates and back into the walls you were so eager to leave less than a week ago. Faces turn to stare at you as you gallop up the main street to Meduseld. Two guards are stationed at the foot of the stairs.

"Is King Theoden still here?" you ask one breathlessly. "Have they left yet?"

"Kind Theoden departed for Dunharrow this morning, my lady," he says, confused by your urgency.

"So I've only just missed them! Which way is Dunharrow? I need to get there as soon as possible!"

The guard gives you directions. You stop only to gather your things from your room before riding there immediately. On the way, you think of how you're going to explain suddenly going MIA. It's easy enough on the surface: orcs caught you while you were taking a very unwise solo walk. But it hadn't been a random coincidence. They'd been sent to look for you. Sauron himself apparently wants to meet you or worse. You can only guess that somehow, some way, the news of your knowledge has spread all the way to Mordor. Given this, you feel very selfish proceeding to Dunharrow and putting your friends in danger...just not selfish enough to stay away.

You reach the cliffside encampment a few hours after the sun sets. You guide Duyam up the narrow sloping path with the air of coming home after a viciously long day. The men whisper and exclaim as you ride through the camp. You dismount and tie Duyam's reins to a post. Reuniting with your friends can potentially wait. You are exhausted to the core and don't even care if there's not a bed made up for you. You're prepared to sleep in the most lush patch of grass.

A figure emerges from a large tent to your right. You squint through the low patches of campfire light and exclaim, "Aragorn!"

Aragorn perks immediately and looks toward your voice. In an instant he is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders, checking over you. "Why did you go off alone? Where were you? Are you injured? Your leg - "

"Man, am I glad to see you," you sigh happily. "My leg is kind of fine. I put some athelas on it and - "

He's not listening. "Lord Elrond is still here. He can tend to it."

"Aragorn, I don't need - "

His eyes flash. You hold up your hands in surrender and allow yourself to be led back into the tent.

Elrond looks up in surprise at your arrival. You wave sheepishly. "*Penneth!* Where did you go?"

"She's injured," Aragorn says before you can respond.

"Injured? What happened?"

"Orcs shot me with an arrow."

"Sit." Elrond gestures to a chair and pulls up a stool next to it. "I do not have my equipment, but I'm sure the Men here will have something."

"I still have some athelas." You pull the somewhat wilted clump out of your vest. "And I did do it up myself already. I'm not completely useless."

Aragorn exits as Elrond unwinds your makeshift bandage, probably to round up fresh wrappings. You sit still as Elrond inspects and washes the hole. "I would like this to be the last time I do this," he tells you sternly.

"I could've managed," you mumble. "You taught me healing, remember?"

"Perhaps I also should have included some lessons on common sense."

"Oh, that's cold! Let me tell you about my little adventure and see if you still think I don't have common sense!"

Aragorn returns just then with bandages and water and Legolas and Gimli right behind him. Legolas flits to your side and stands very still, watching Elrond's every move. Gimli's greeting is a bit less staid.

"My Lady, forgive me for speaking so, but _what in Durin's name were you thinking?!_" Gimli bellows. "You mention a walk and the disappear for five days? The worry you put us all through!"

"It wasn't _planned_, you know! Do you all seriously think I just fancied a five-day vacation in the Wild all alone in the middle of a war?"

Gimli's too busy ranting to address that question. You grab a big cup of water to wait it out. "I thought I was witnessing the passing of a dynasty! You must write to King Thorin immediately and update him - "

"_Update?!_" You choke on the water. "As in _he already knows something about the situation?!_"

"I had to tell him! He charged me with looking after you, and you went and vanished!"

"Oh my god. Ohhh my god." You lean your head back against the chair. "He's going to kill me. I can't believe he's not here already."

Legolas puts a hand on Gimli's shoulder to restrain him from continuing his rant. He says gently to you, "Tell us what happened."

"I just wanted a walk outside the walls. I went straight out so I could come straight back in. I was supposed to be back by sunset, but I ran into some orcs. They ended up getting the best of me. We went two days east before I had the chance to very cheerfully slaughter them all in their sleep. Then I had to work my way back, which wasn't easy with a hole in my leg. I eventually found a stray horse and made it back to Edoras, but you'd already left, so I came here, and here I am. But the thing is, I think..." You look up at Elrond, finally betraying your concern. "I think they were looking for me specifically."

Elrond's hands still and his head snaps up. "For you? Why do you think that?"

"They were looking for, as they put it, the She-Elf. They knew me by the jewel in my hair..." You withdraw the hair clip that you'd immediately taken off at first chance. "They intended to take me to Sauron. I don't think anyone's wondering why."

The wind and crackling fire logs can be heard in the silence. Elrond finally murmurs, "How?"

"Perhaps there is a spy among us," Aragorn muses quietly.

"It would not take a spy," Gimli says grimly. "Her foresight is hardly a secret."

Everyone looks at him, including you. "What do you mean, it's hardly a secret?" you ask, bemused.

Gimli seems just as surprised. "All Dwarves know of it, my lady. It's become a point of pride, to have such a powerful queen."

You're dumbfounded as this new information gives new lens through which to see recent events. Balin had mentioned unsavory folk in the lands around the Mountain. It was not uncommon knowledge that you'd gone away, and the bit of the Arkenstone in your hair clip only cements the link. And it's quite possible that the letter-bearing ravens were not the only birds to see you; crebain, vultures, and bats are only a few creatures that could have marked your identity. From the others' expressions, you can tell they're slowly arriving at the same conclusion.

"Awesome," you say flatly. "Y'know, I wasn't going to come back. I didn't want to put anyone in danger. But I was really hungry, and a bit hurt, and kind of scared..."

"As long as you do not wear that jewel, they cannot find you," Aragorn says tensely.

"How do you know? The orcs were a stone's throw from Edoras. They must at least know I'm with Rohan."

"You are not to go off on your own," Elrond says severely, inferring your point. "Sauron would not spare any force to be reckoned with to come after you, not when he's already attacking Minas Tirith. Any patrols could quickly be dispatched by so many soldiers in a hold such as this. You will stay here, do you understand?"

"Yes, fine, I'll stay."

"You should come with me on the Dimholt Road," Aragorn says. "You'd be far from any orcs for a while at least."

"No," you muse, "You and Legolas and Gimli are supposed to take the Dimhold Road. I'll stay here and ride to Gondor with Theoden. The order of events have been messed up enough as it is. I just want to get back on track."

"Perhaps we should not get back on track just yet," Elrond says suddenly. You blink at him. "I will explain later. Presently, you should sleep, _penneth._"

It occurs to you just how tired you are. "Yeah, I think I will."

"Take my tent," Aragorn says. "It seems I will not be needing it."

"Thanks. Have fun raising the undead army. I'll meet you guys on the battlefield."


	36. The Ruse

I'M REALLY PUMPED FOR THIS CHAPTER THO?

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You sleep until late in the morning to make up for the difficult nights on the plains. Breakfast is waiting for you in your tent. You devour it immediately, silently thanking whoever left it that there was no bread. You wash quickly to get rid of the grime of roughing it and then seek Elrond to hear his plan.

He is still in Theoden's tent, and this time Theoden is with him. You enter unobtrusively to give them time to wrap up any conversation.

"Lady Aniel!" Theoden perks upon seeing you. "My heart is glad to see you back unharmed - or, mostly unharmed."

"Oh, that's nothing. I'm glad to be back, thank you. Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. Lord Elrond was giving me counsel, and a fine counsel it has been."

Elrond says, "Now that you have joined us, there is something on my mind I must tell you both."

You lean on the table in attention.

"As you know, Gandalf took Saruman's Palantir from the ruins or Orthanc. After the incident with the Halfling, he left it for me

to take back to Rivendell. I intend to do so, but I believe we can presently make use of it."

"Use the Palantir?" you gasp. "But what will you use it for?"

"It is not I who will use it."

You stare at him, the implications of his statement slowly dawning on you. "You're not meaning..._me?_"

"I understand if you refuse. It is a dangerous task, and if you do not feel you can do it, I would not force you."

"But what could I even do? I'm not strong or powerful or wise. Wouldn't it just be playing right into Sauron's hands?"

"Sauron is seeking you because you know the outcome of this war. I would give him that exact information, at least as far as he's aware."

"Ah-_huh_. So you want me to lie right to Sauron's eye-face and hope he doesn't liquify my brain in return."

"Palantirs do not grant either party the ability to read minds. Sauron will know only the false information you give him. But as I said, if you do not think you can do it..."

You bite your lip. "If I did, what exactly would it accomplish?"

"If you feed Sauron the idea that he will be victorious, perhaps he will send less of his forces to get the job done. We are already outnumbered. Any break would potentially save hundreds of lives."

You put your head in your hands. Elrond has you there: you came on this quest to save lives. But to lie to the embodiment of evil? You'll have to put together a solid story of death and destruction for it to be passable. "Just...give me a minute to prepare," you say weakly.

"Are you absolutely sure? This is not a task to be taken on lightly."

"I'm sure. I'll do it."

Theoden lets out a breath of relief. "Thank you, my lady. This battle will be hard enough as it is. Any leniency you can give us is greatly appreciated."

You sit in a chair in front of the table while the preparations are made. Theoden tells the guard outside not to let anyone in. Elrond sets the onxy sphere in front of you, careful not to touch it himself. You regard it apprehensively. You've always had a vivid imagination, but now it would be put to the ultimate test.

Very slowly, you rest your palms on the Palantir. Instantly the world around you disintegrates, leaving you floating in a black void. You look into the nothingness, more with your mind than with your eyes, searching for the connection.

A voice echoes through the darkness. It rings in your ears in Black Speak, but somehow you can understand it: "_Who dares to command the Seeing-Stone?_"

You almost reply defiantly, but catch yourself - it's supposed to be doom and gloom, not a battle of the wills. You quickly relive your capture by the orcs and conveniently leave out the part where you murdered them all.

"_You are the Elf-Witch who knows the future?_"

"_I am_."

"_Show me._"

You resist here; you don't want to make it too easy to obtain the information so he won't suspect a trick. A superheated wind hits your skin in retaliation. You flinch away from it, but your fingers are still glued to the Palantir. The intensity of the heat rises steadily until it is liquid fire. You hold out as long as possible before breaking and releasing the false memories.

Minas Tirith burns, its formerly white marble blackened by ash and smeared with blood. Corpses of Men lie in a thick layer on the fields of Pelennor; orcs trample them on their way to the broken city - much less of them than would be needed to do so. Rohan's "demise" is next and just as graphic. One by one the last safe havens of Middle Earth fall: Rivendell, Lorien, and the Shire. You lay the destruction on thick, but you don't think it's too much. The montage of ruin is topped off by a vision of the One Ring on Sauron's armored finger.

"_Your world will burn. There is no escape. Death will come to all_."

You confirm this with a few more images of gratuitous orc violence before mentally shrinking away. He does not force you back, so you assume he's satisfied. With a might wrench, you rip your hands off the Palantir, and suddenly you're back in the tent.

"Aniel! Can you hear me?"

You blink hazily up into Elrond's concerned face. You feel cold and clammy and weak. Theoden quickly helps you drink some water. You run your fingers up your arm and find it unscathed; Sauron's torture was purely mental.

"I think I did it," you mumble, surprised to be able to say it. You briefly recount some of the scenes you fed Sauron.

"Will it work?" Theoden asks Elrond. "Will their numbers be lessened?"

"Only time will tell, but it sounds like Aniel showed him exactly what he'd been hoping to see. You did perfectly, Aniel."

"Thanks. I think I'm gonna throw up."

You're put on mandatory bed rest for the rest of the day. You don't mind in the slightest. The conversation took more out of you than expected, and you'd been prepared for something pretty bad. You find little rest, however, as your dreams are filled with shadows and that stupid Eye. You finally give up on sleeping and decide to send that letter Gimli had suggested the previous night.

_Dearest,_

_I'm fine. I don't know what Gimli told you - and Mahal help him that he told you anything - but I'm back with Rohan and alive __and well. I'm sorry for worrying you. It was a misadventure that was mostly my own fault, but I won't bother with details. Just __know that everything is okay and I'm not missing any limbs. I love you always and look foward to seeing you soon._

_Aniel_

It's good enough. You sneak out of your tent and eventually find a bird to take the letter. It's an annoying enough task that you mutter to yourself about texting and don't even feel anxious about doing so.

All the bad dreams have made you hungry, so as twilight falls, you search for some food while making sure to avoid Theoden and Elrond. Eowyn is the one you do run into, and she's just as firm even without knowing of your most recent escapade.

"We were worried," she tells you sternly, filling a bowl of soup for you. "Where did you go?"

"On a walk that led to getting taken by orcs and dragged two days to Mordor," you answer easily.

"And you're on your own two feet! You must truly be a warrior to be reckoned with."

"I really can't take that complient," you laugh. "It was less than twenty and I killed them in their sleep."

"Clever, then," she amends. "Regardless, I'm glad you're back. I do believe you promised we would fight together."

"I did! It will be before the walls of Minas Tirith where you ascend into legend, my lady."

"_Legend_," she snorts, but smiles.

The galloping hooves of an incoming horse draws your attention. Theoden is there to greet the stranger. You also rise and take several apprehensive steps forward; no one else is supposed to arrive at Dunharrow.

"Where is she?" says a voice that instantly makes your mouth go dry and your heart pound.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Theoden says rather coldly.

You stumble forward and call hoarsely, "Thorin?"

The silhouetted figure darts past Theoden and into the light of a large fire. You only take half a second to ensure it's him before running into arms that close like a trap around you.


	37. Reunited

I'm sure y'all are mad about the lack of smut but trust me, it's better this way. You'd all swear off sex if I ever attempted to write smut. So just enjoy the cute before everything gets too real.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

You take inventory of the situation with every sense to make sure you're not dreaming. He feels the same - strong and sturdy in your arms as he's always been. You take a deep breath and his scent fills you, the scent of _home_. He's whispering in Khuzdul in his beautiful deep voice. His work-rough hands crush you closer and closer to him, and it's still not close enough.

"_Amralime_," he murmurs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes are filled with tears, as are yours. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"I'm right here. Everything's okay," you whisper back, running your fingers through his raven hair.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I've never been better!"

You share a deep kiss. The tears in your eyes spill over. Kissing Thorin like this, it's like the separation of the past months never happened. When you part, you bury your face in his neck and sigh-sob contentedly.

"My apologies for the manner of my arrival, king of Rohan," Thorin says in a more steady voice. You assume he's addressing Theoden and leave him to it.

Theoden's tone is warm when he answers, "I more than understand, King of the Mountain. We were also concerned by her absence. We will tend to your horse. Go and take your rest."

Thorin nods and scoops you up in his arms. You direct him vaguely to your tent, really too caught up in him to be very coherent. The cloth door swishes shut behind him, dividing the two of you from the rest of the world. He lays down, still keeping you close, and pulls the blankets snugly up.

"I can't believe it," you mumble. "I can't believe you're here."

"I left as soon as I read Gimli's letter. I feared the worst. Ease my mind and tell me what happened."

"Er...well, I don't think the truth will ease your mind as much as it will convince you to lock me up forever."

"I'm planning on doing that anyway, so you may as well tell me."

You recount your misadventure again. He does not interrupt, but his expression changes with the phases of your story. When you mention being shot down, he brushes your bandaged calf. "So basically I have no one to blame but my own dumb self," you finish.

Thorin heaves a sigh. "I should never have let you leave the Mountain unsupervised."

"Yeah, probably not. But in my defense, that's the worst that's happened this entire time. So I've really done quite well."

"And you're sure your leg is on the mend?"

"Elrond finished the job himself. He was about as pleased as you are." You smile fondly up at him. "I can't believe you came all this way to look for me."

"Can you not? I swore that if I didn't hear from you, I'd bring armies to ensure your safety."

"You're an army of one, then?"

"No. Dain is on his way."

You laugh.

Thorin closes his eyes. "I missed that. I missed you. I have been incomplete until this moment."

"And I missed your voice. I used to hear it when I read your letters. Being apart is dumb. Let's not do it again."

Thorin smiles and pulls you closer. "Never again."

You have the best sleep you've had in a while that night, wrapped up in blankets and Thorin. When you wake, he is miraculously still there, gazing down at you with an expression full of love.

"Did you sleep at all?" you ask, kissing his jaw. "It must have been a long ride from Erebor."

"I slept more wonderfully than I have in months, and I woke to the most beautiful sight in the world."

"You've lost none of your poetry, I see. Why didn't you get up if you were awake?"

"I didn't want to move, and I was waiting for you. I wanted to speak with the king - Theoden, is it?"

"Yes, Theoden. I'm sure he'd like to meet you formally. And I wanted you to meet Aragorn, but he's gone with Gimli and Legolas on a side mission. I guess there's always later. But yeah, let's go."

You walk hand in hand to Theoden's tent. The men marvel openly at you, but you're long used to being stared at when with Thorin. Theoden welcomes you inside.

"Hail King Under the Mountain," Theoden greets. "I am glad to meet you after spending time with your wife."

"Thank you for you reception, Theoden-King," Thorin returns. "And thank you for you hospitality."

"You are welcome to it for as long as we are here, but we will be riding for Gondor tomorrow morning."

"I'd like to ride with you."

You stare at Thorin. "Come again?"

"What, did you think I came all this way to leave again? I intend to stay by your side until this war is over, for better or worse." Thorin addresses Theoden. "My army is close behind. We will follow you to Gondor."

"Army?" you interrupt again. "I thought you were joking!"

"You brought an army?" Theoden seems hopeful at the prospect.

"Yes. My cousin Dain Ironfoot and his soldiers are on the way. They are the finest of Dwarf warriors."

You can't take it any more. "No!" you burst out. Theoden and Thorin look at you. "Thorin, you can't stay, and Dain can just go right back home! Dwarves were not supposed to be involved in this battle!"

"Plans change," Thorin says simply.

"_Plans change?!_ Oh no, you're not gonna pull _that_ again! The last time you changed plans, we _woke up a dragon!_"

Thorin is unperturbed by your temper. He says to Theoden, "I promised her that if necessary, I would bring an army to ensure her safety, and so I have. The Dwarves are ready to join this war, late perhaps, but all the same."

"We would welcome any aid," Theoden says.

You rub your head. "I am about to have a heart attack."

"Lady Aniel, less than half of the number I had hoped for has arrived. If your ruse does not work , we will need all the strength we can get to win this fight."

"What ruse?" Thorin interjects, looking at you.

"I used a Seeing-Stone to give Sauron some false information," you say haughtily.

"You did _what?_"

You shrug and smirk, glad to see him angry. It serves him right for pulling something like this.

Theoden attempts to calm the situation. "I can tell you're both angry, but there's nothing for it either way. I would appreciate both of your cooperation."

Thorin nods. You cross your arms. Both of you exit the tent. You mutter, "I can't believe you really brought an army."

"I cannot believe you confronted Sauron! Have you any idea how dangerous that was?"

"Do _you_ have any idea how dangerous this battle will be?"

"All the more reason for me to be here." He looks at you with a wry smile. "You may be angry with me, but I'm just glad to see you alive."

"I - don't - don't you be cute when I'm scolding you!" You heave a sigh and relent. "Okay, I'm not mad at you. I'm just worried. I can't know how this battle will go for you."

Thorin half-shrugs. "You've not known my future for years."

"But those were peaceful years. This is _mortal peril_, Thorin."

Thorin takes both your hands and kisses them. "I will not leave your side before this battle or after, I swear it. Do you believe in me?"

"Of course. I always have."

"Then forget your worries and come with me. We have been apart for far too long, and tomorrow the fight begins. I'd like to spend at least one night with you before the clouds burst."

* * *

(cue sexytime that i'd rather leave to your imagination~)


	38. The Battle of Minas Tirith

Alternate title: WHO RUN THE WORLD? GIRLS! Spoiler alert that after the war, you and Eowyn open up a bounty hunting service and badass into the sunset together~

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

"Aniel...wake up, love..."

You grumble and roll over. The blanket slips off your shoulder and pools at your side, revealing your bare back.

Thorin chuckles deeply. "Do not tempt me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." You pull the blanket a little further down.

"There's nothing I'd rather do, but the camp is stirring. I believe we're about to leave. You should dress."

You roll back over. Thorin is already in pants an a shirt. You make a noise of indignation that he let you miss the show. You grudgingly pick up and put on the clothes that had been flung all over the tent the previous night. The exercise allows you to start thinking with a more logical part of your brain; you're stressed within minutes.

"We need to leave now," you mutter more to yourself than Thorin. "We need to beat the orcs to Minas Tirith. There are defense plans for the city I want to go over - I should have sent a letter to Gandalf before now, but I never had the chance - "

"Relax, darling. We can leave now if you'd like."

The two of you ready your horses and search out Theoden in the chaos. He's very conveniently standing in front of his tent with Elrond, both of them clad in full armor.

"Lord Elrond?" you say, confused to see him dressed in such a way.

"I am fighting with the Men," he answers your unasked question.

"Would it be any use to tell you that's a terrible idea and that you may not make it back if you go?"

"No use at all, _penneth_."

"Right. King Theoden." You address him. "I must ride ahead. My unexpected vacation prevented me from going sooner, but I need to beat the orcs to Minas Tirith."

Theoden nods. "Go with speed. We will meet you there."

"I will accompany you," Elrond says. "I should like to speak to Gandalf before the battle begins."

Happy with your ensemble, you mount your horse and ride out. The journey from Dunharrow to Minas Tirith is brutal; you make a three-day journey in two with minimal stops and sleep. All that keeps you going is the knowledge that you're so near the end, so very close that you can almost taste it.

The White City gleams in the light of a red sunrise. It is a beautiful and foreboding sight with the mountains of Mordor close in the distance. The mighty gate opens at the shout of the gatekeeper. Your poor horses gallop the final distance up the stone roads to the citadel. Here you dismount and head for the throne room with a purpose.

The doors of the citadell hall open before you reach them. Out comes Gandalf, Boromir, Pippin, and, as you're surprised and pleased to see, Faramir. They're utterly shocked to see your group, which makes you smile a bit.

Pippin runs ahead and greets you with a hug that you return in full force. "How are you here, Aniel?" he gasps, staring up at you.

You shrug. "At this point, we're making it up as we go."

"Aniel!" Gandalf exclaims. "And Lord Elrond! And - _Thorin?_"

Thorin smirks beside you. "It's been a long time, Gandalf."

Gandalf stares at you. "You have a lot of explaining to do," he says almost sternly, but his eyes twinkle.

"Come inside, my friends," Boromir says earnestly. "You are a welcome sight, Aniel. I hoped I'd get to introduce you to my brother, Faramir. Faramir, this is Aniel, who I've been telling you so much about."

Faramir bows his head. "I have heard a great deal about you, Lady Aniel. It is an honor to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is mine! I'm so glad to see you well. I wish we could have met under lighter circumstances, but we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other later."

The marble throne room is gorgeous, but you don't have time to admire it. As soon as the doors close, you say to Gandalf, "We rode ahead because I had important things to tell you. Theoden is on the way, along with Dain, apparently, and Aragorn will be along a bit later. First things first - er, what _should_ be first?"

Elrond says, "I will tell Gandalf of the ruse. You tell Boromir of your plans for defense."

"Right! Okay, Boromir - " You begin to talk so fast that Boromir looks unnerved. "You should move as many people as possibly to the higher tiers of the city. The enemy is supposed to break through, but maybe we can stop it. I'd advise barricading the front gate with whatever you have - giant boulders would be preferable, though furniture will do. They'll have trolls on their side - tell the archers to always aim for the trolls - but I bet even trolls would have a hard time getting through a bunch of rocks. Then - well, we're _supposed_ to have arranged it so that the force against us will be lighter, at least initially, so hopefully it won't be too bad - and we have three more armies coming, so - "

"Alright!" Boromir cuts you off. "You've given this a fair bit of thought, haven't you?"

You grin. "I've had over sixty years to think about it."

"Then we defer to your good judgment. Faramir, would you - ?"

"Right away." Faramir dashes off to make the necessary preparations.

You take a moment to glance around the hall. You notice that both of the fine chairs are empty. You wonder if you should ask about it; curiosity gets the best of you. "Boromir? Er...where's Denethor?"

Boromir's mood dims slightly. "My father is in his chambers."

"Is he...okay?"

"He's furious with me." Boromir gazes over your head. "You were right. He would not cooperate, would not give in to begging or shouting. He even attempted to send Faramir back to reclaim Osgiliath. In the end, I did what was necessary to keep my people safe."

"I'm sorry it came to that," you say sincerely. "I was hoping he'd see reason before you had to do anything drastic."

"Thank you. But he is of no concern anymore. We must focus on the task at hand."

Gandalf and Elrond finish their conversation. Gandalf tells you sternly, "What you did was very risky."

"I sense a _but_ coming."

"But if it works, many lives will be spared."

"That's the spirit!" you say brightly.

Boromir says, "If that's settled, the three of you should rest. I imagine it was a hard ride to get here so quickly."

It didn't occur to you until now, but under the rush of seeing everyone again, you are exhausted. Elrond elects to stay up, so Boromir leads you and Thorin to a side room with a bed. "Take as much rest as you can," he says. "I fear the time of battle draws near."

You flop face-first on the bed. Thorin thoughtfully removes your boots before doing the same. "I feel as though I should not be sleeping," he murmurs into the pillow. "There is work to be done."

"They've got that taken care of," you mumble back, already halfway unconscious. "I'm sure they'll wake us before anything interesting happens. Anyway, we deserve a nap."

He can't argue with that, so with you tucked safely under his arm, the pair of you drift off like there's not a massive showdown looming only hours away.

You don't really remember how you went from soundly asleep to fully alert with axe in hand. It was all a blur of noise and shouting and armor clanking. Now you gaze out over the fields of Pelennor at the orc host gathered and manage to smirk. Their reduced number is apparent. You feel a swell of pride for your mad lying skills. Between Theoden, Aragorn, and now Dain, this battle will be a breeze.

"You alright?" Thorin asks quietly from beside you.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Whatever happens, do not leave my side."

You grin. "I won't. I've gotta keep an eye on you, don't I?"

Thorin looks at you hesitantly. "If we do not make it..."

You cut him off with a kiss. "Hush. We'll _definitely_ make it. You won't even break a sweat. I love you."

"And I love you." He takes your hand.

The catapults on both sides exchange fire. Buildings tumble and orcs are crushed. The Nazgul come screeching from the skies. They snatch up men and drop them. You watch it all both on edge and detatched.

Trolls push the giant towers towards the wall. You're pleased to see that your advice was relayed: several of the towers stop before they reach their destination as their trolls are maddened or killed by a storm of arrows. Still, some of the towers do make contact, and thus the battle truly begins.

You kill each orc with extreme prejudice, and each one that falls only spurs you on. Never before have you seen an end so clearly. You're right on the precipice of peace. All that stands in your way is this doomed rabble. Every dead orc is one more step closer to the end of ends. On and on you fight into the night until you notice another war machine being wheeled towards the walls.

"Damn," you murmur. "Gandalf! They're coming for the gate!"

"We blocked it as you said," Boromir yells to you. "Will it hold?"

"I'm not taking any chances!"

Thorin stops in mid-swing to run after you. Gandalf gallops ahead on Shadowfax. You join the crowd of soldiers in the courtyard. The gate has indeed been reinforced with wood and boulders. It's a nice attempt, but you doubt that even that won't stop the awful battering ram just outside.

The men jump with each deafening impact of Grond's fearsome face on the wood. Some of the boulders tumble out of place. You nock an arrow and focus all of your attention on what will be coming through.

Gandalf shouts to rally the soldiers, "Stand fast! You are soldiers of Gondor! Whatever comes through that gate, stand your ground!"

Doing so is easier said than done when what comes through that gate is several heavily armored trolls. Many of the men are swept away by the massive clubs, but you're prepared. You wait for just the right opening to take one down via an arrow through the windpipe. It collapses after staggering around a moment.

"Nice shot," Thorin comments.

"It was, wasn't it?" You smile at him before rushing into the thick of things, axe at the ready.

The point group of trolls and subsequent influx of orcs is enough to keep you busy all through the night. You do not rest, you do not stop, you do not even think of either of those things. All there is is methodically dropping the next enemy and occasionally checking on Thorin. The concept of time hardly even occurs to you until you register the dawning of a new day heralded by a far off horn.

You and Thorin fly up the ramparts to witness the beautiful scene. Arriving as though bringing the sun is an army of gold _and_ silver; at the distance you can just make out the line of Dwarves in front of the Rohirrim, their broad shields glinting in the dawn. The two of you cheer unabashedly at the sight.

"Let's ride out and meet them!" you say excitedly.

Thorin uncharacteristically does not object to the rather dangerous plan. You round up a pair of horses from further up in the city and gallop back down and out of the gates and a blaze of ecstacy. The orcs are simply no match for both the Dwarves and the Rohirrim. Your allies rush down upon the enemy like a cleansing flood, cutting a swath towards the city.

You're so high on adrenaline and glory that you completely forget what's next.

Bitter shrieking from above signals the Nazguls' return. You cringe away from the sound that takes you off-guard. But the awful noise reminds you that now is the time to either find a way to save Theoden or let fate run its course.

Ignoring Thorin's shouts to come back, you urge your horse on faster. You scan each face, looking desperately for Theoden or even Eowyn. When you finally spot your target, nothing keeps you from getting to him. Your horse runs so fast that its hooves barely touch the ground. Orcs are trampled. But it's not fast enough: the Nazgul lands in front of Theoden.

Your fingers find the shaft of an arrow before your mind finishes piecing together the half-baked plan. You loose the shot of the century: a single arrow fired from a speeding horse right into the eye of the scaly beast. The Witch-King's steed screams in pain and writhes. Its thrashing tail catches Theoden's horse, throwing him several feet to the ground.

Theoden struggles to move, but he's too stunned by the fall to do so quickly. But, shining bright as the new day, Eowyn stands firmly in front of her lord and blood. "I will kill you if you touch him!"

"Do not come between a Nazgul and his prey," the Witch-King hisses.

The fell beast lunges at Eowyn, its mouth open wide, only to be cleanly beheaded. The now headless body bucks, throwing the Witch-King to the ground. He rises from its twitching midst, armed with a sword and terrible mace. With a shriek, he engages Eowyn in combat. You watch this all from your and Thorin's position position protecting Theoden.

One slow move leaves Eowyn on the defensive. The Witch-King shatters her shield and sends her sprawling. He towers above her menacingly. "You fool! No man can kill me! Die now!"

From behind, Merry comes out of nowhere and thrusts his sword into the Witch-King's back. The blade sizzles upon contact, throwing Merry back. This gives Eowyn the time she needs to rise to her feet. She rips off her helm. Her golden hair cascades over her shoulders and shines in the sun.

"I am no man!"

Eowyn plunges her blade into the Witch-King's void face. The blade shatters as it does its duty. A small whirlwind surrounds the Witch-King as he implodes with one last shrill shriek. He finally falls to the ground, crumpled and powerless.

Eowyn immediately runs to where you stand by Theoden and kneels on the ground. "Are you injured?" she demands fearfully.

"Eowyn." Theoden shakes his head but cannot truly be angry with her. "You saved me, dearer-than-daughter."

Eowyen half-laughs, tears in her eyes, and they embrace. It _would_ be a touching moment, save for -

You murmur, "My lord, if you can still fight, you should find a horse, because we have company."

The oliphaunts have arrived at last. At their feet is several thousand more orcs, the ones who Sauron did not send initially due to his false security. The racket they make is earth-moving.

Eowyn helps Theoden to his feet. "We cannot defeat such a force," she says to you, her eyes wide with terror.

"We can try." Theoden snags a riderless horse and forces himself back into the saddle. "Reform the lines! To me! To me!"

Thorin readjusts his grip on Orcrist. "The ruse did not work," he says bitterly. "I am sorry, love."

"Don't be." You stare at the oncoming sea of enemies without really seeing them. "It worked exactly how it needed to."

With the forces of darkness drawing ever near and the Rohirrim scrambling to make one last line of defense, you stand without a horse or any significant protection, waiting, waiting, _hoping_...

A very different noise joins the din - a chorus of battle cries from fresh warriors that would never tire. From nowhere sweeps a fog of green that cuts down everything in its path, orc or oliphaunt. There is no need for the Rohirrim to charge as the Undead Army swarms the new enemy line and keeps it from advancing.

You fall to your knees, lightheaded with relief. You can't tear your eyes away from the biggest damn gamble you've made in all your time in Middle Earth. You take it all in like a drowning man inhales oxygen, and slowly it sinks in that you've _won_.

* * *

BREAK OUT THE SHOTS WE WON IT'S TIME TO PARTAAA - wait, you say we have one more battle? Man, that's right - okay, no shots right now, but keep the drinks on ice!


	39. One Last Time

Guys, we are staring at the end of the line. We are almost done. One more chapter. One last time.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

* * *

The reinforcements sent to compensate for Sauron's fatal mistake are demolished by the untouchable army. Not even the towering oliphaunts can stand against them. The battlefield falls silent and still before your eyes. You hardly dare to breathe for fear of being too loud.

Slowly, like a jet engine revving, cries of victory rise into one. Those still standing thrust their spears and swords into the air and cheer to the sky. You beam at their enthusiasm.

"Thorin!" a familiar voice echoes across the plains. You both turn to see Dain, a little worse for the wear but still on his own two feet. Dain embraces Thorin, then you. "Hell of a fight!" he roars, eyes gleaming. "Glad we came!"

"Thank you, Dain," you say breathlessly. "Your support saved many lives today."

"Aye, that's a fine thing, but we were only after one! It's good to see you alive, lass. Thorin here was frantic, if his letter was any indication!"

"_Thank_ you, Dain," Thorin says pointedly. "Aniel, we should return to the citadel and give report."

"Good idea."

With Dain and Theoden determined to carry out search and rescue, you and Thorin find one more horse and gallop back through the city. You're delighted to see on the ride up that the orcs only managed to penetrate two tiers, and that their bodies outnumber those of the Men.

One by one your friends return to the citadel in various states. Merry, supported by Pippin, is pale but conscious. Boromir and Faramir have really been through the mill, as they had directed the soldiers inside the city. You grin when Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli find their way up.

"Not a moment too soon," you say to Aragorn.

Aragorn gives one of his rare real smiles. "So it seemed."

"That worked perfectly! I think we took out the full intended force with a fraction of the casualties! See, Thorin, you doubted me, but you should know by now - oh, Thorin!" You beam between him and Aragorn. "I wanted you to meet him! This is Thorin, Aragorn. Thorin, Aragorn son of Arathorn, who happens to be heir to the throne of Gondor."

Aragorn bows slightly. "Aniel spoke of you constantly on our travels. I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"And I, you, Son of Arathorn." Thorin inclines his head. "For looking after Aniel, I am in your debt."

"I believe she was the one looking after us."

"Oh, it was mutual. Gimli, you needn't hide, I'm not mad at you."

Gimli is sheepish as he bows to Thorin. "I did my best to look after her, my lord, as you asked," he says.

"And she is in one piece, likely in spite of her best efforts," Thorin replies, amused. "You have done well, and you have my thanks."

The greeting moves to the oldest of acquaintances. You look between Thorin and Legolas as the gaze at each other impassively. Legolas finally breaks into a soft smile and nods. You're thrilled when Thorin reciprocates.

Gandalf and Elrond arrive just then. Elrond seeks you wearing a blazing expression of victory. "It worked," he says.

You beam. "I know. And even though he figured it out, Aragorn came through just in time."

"Did you...?"

"Know? No, I just had way more faith than was probably wise."

"Regardless. This has been a great victory."

You don't want to burst anyone's bubble too soon, so you just respond casually. After helping with cleanup and attending to the wounded, finally find the time to sleep. Your bed just happens to be a cozy niche in a windowsill of the throne room. Low conversation rouses you slowly.

"I have sent him to his doom."

You roll groggily off the ledge; the fall, which was a bit further than you thought, effectively wakes you up. "Sorry, am I late? Are we leaving?" you ask blearily.

"Leaving?" Gandalf looks at you.

"To the Black Gates," Aragorn says, nodding at you. You nod back. "Frodo needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth."

"How?"

"Draw out Sauron's remaining armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Thorin muses, "We may not be able to achieve victory through strength of arms."

"May we not?" you sing, prancing over. "I think differently. My friends, this is *the* last obstacle. This war is almost over. We are only hours from victory."

"From victory?" Elrond looks at you. "You are absolutely certain?"

"I have been counting down the days!"

Gandalf nods. "Then so shall it be."

As they discuss the finer points of the attack, Thorin asks you in an undertone, "Is this how it's been? You've been calling the shots behind the scenes and everyone follows along?"

"Is that what this looks like?" You're surprised at the analysis. "No, it was more like they led the way and I interjected my coincidentally correct opinion from time to time. It was a group effort, and it's been mostly fun."

"Mostly fun?" He smiles fondly at you. "I believe that's what I missed most: your ability to see the bright side of everything."

"Well, if you're looking for a bright side, you're about to get the surface of the sun, because _we are almost done!_ Then we can go home and relax into eternity."

"Then I will fight the armies of Mordor with my bare hands if it gets us home faster."

You smile and kiss him. "Don't be so dramatic. You'll at least get an axe."

The troops are rallied for one last stand. How they were convinced, you're not sure, but it may have been due in part to the relative ease of the previous battle. You ride with the army like you're going on an exciting day trip. The wind that flows through your hair only increases your anticipation. You fancy yourself a war maiden with shining hair and armor, galloping to the next war. But the real war maiden is several feet in front of you.

You ride up to her. "Eowyn! I didn't get to talk to you earlier! How are you?"

She smiles at you. "Your words were fulfilled, my friend. I am grateful that you were there to witness it."

"So am I! I hoped I wouldn't miss it. You were so brave!"

"Bravery is a matter of circumstance. My uncle was in danger. Thank you, by the way, for staying with him. He might have otherwise been wounded while I was occupied."

You smile at the secret knowledge you don't feel is necessary to fully divulge. "That's what I came for."

"And this battle, you say it will be easy?"

"Yes," you say confidently. "It will be over in a blink."

The army gathers before the Black Gate. You're so ready to do a bit more fighting that it reminds you of your younger years, back when skirmishes had much lower stakes. But how can you not be raring? You are at the very end of a saga. Of an age, even. Most importantly, you'll soon be on your way back home to spend the rest of your life with your family and your love.

Aragorn urges his horse forward. You happily accompany him. He shouts to the imposing gates, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!"

The taunt works. The Black Gates begin to move with an almighty groan. The forward party quickly rejoins the rest of the army. A fair number of orcs begin the march out of Mordor. You smirk, silently daring them to come get some.

You lean over to Aragorn and whisper, "Optional event coming up. You asked me to warn you."

"I appreciate it. What are my options?"

"To make a speech, or to not make a speech."

"Any suggestions?"

"Please make the speech. I've been waiting so long to hear it."

Aragorn rides up and down the line. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers and my friends! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. The day may come when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down - but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

The collective war cry is deafening and even causes the advancing orcs to falter. You beam proudly at Aragorn. "I am honored to fight by your side," you tell him in a voice thick with emotion.

"I share the sentiment. Your counsel has been irreplaceable and has saved more lives than can be counted. Let us now end this evil once and for all."

You welcome the charge with a fire blazing in your soul. Each orc you cut down is a personal victory. The orcs do put up more of a fight than expected; you suppose it's because they're desperate and cornered. Still, they're not quite a match for the inspired soldiers.

Armored trolls barrel through the ranks. One knocks down Aragorn. Panicked, you pull your signature move: you climb the troll's back, yank off its helmet, and introduce its nervous system to your axe. The troll roars and staggers back, giving Aragorn time to right himself.

"Be back!" you call cheerfully. After all, it is your last chance to be the Troll Master.

You parade around trampling orcs until your ride is on the brink of death, at which point you abandon ship. Looking around, you notice that several others have followed your example, leading to trolls rampaging all over the place. It feels nice to be a role model.

There was never any doubt that you would win, but when the eagles show up is when everyone else becomes convinced of that fact. The eagles dogfight with the remaining Nazgul and mow down stripes of orcs and inspire the tiring soldiers to push on just a little longer.

Suddenly the ground jolts. Both you and the orc you're fighting almost lose your footing. A thin but potent shriek tears through the air. The trolls are the first to run scared. You turn just in time to watch Barad-Dur slowly implode and crumble from the bottom up. The great Eye of Sauron vanishes in a mighty shockwave that causes the entirety of the land of Mordor to sink. Orcs flee from the massive sinkhole, most of them unsuccessfully. Mount Doom shoots ash and fire into the air before breaking apart with the sheer force of the eruption.

"Take an eagle there," you say quickly to Gandalf, who paled at the sight of the explosion. "Frodo and Sam are waiting for you."

And for once, for possibly the last time, neither he nor anyone asks if you're certain. He simply whistles clearly and is scooped up by a great taloned foot. Gandalf, riding Gwahir, leads the flock towards Mount Doom.

"It's over," you say very quietly. The words hardly taste right on your tongue, but they're true. "It's all over."

Aragorn hears the pronouncement and proclaims victory. The men cheer as one, possibly even louder than their initial battle cry. You smile along; the implications of what has finally been done mean too much to you to express in sound.

"Is it over?" Thorin asks in a low voice.

"Yeah. Sauron is gone for good. It's over."

Thorin simply takes your hand.

The rest of the army returns to Minas Tirith to as much of a triumphant reception as can be managed under the circumstances. You enjoy the cheers and thrown flowers in a sort of daze. Despite always having known the outcome would be positive, it hardly seems real now that it's here. You realize that it's not necessarily the celebration, but the fact that nothing else this exciting will happen again. The idea of _boredom_ makes you chuckle to yourself.

It's every man for himself after arriving at Minas Tirith. The soldiers wind down or seek food or sleep, and civilians rush about administering to the wounded and cleaning up rubble. It's a chaos you're not interested in dealing with. You slip away and ascend back to your perch in the window of the throne room. The sun is still high enough in the sky for it to be a cozy spot. You lie down on the sill and close your eyes. Thorin joins you eventually; you know his presence when he strokes your hair. Neither of you speak. You simply stare into the coloring sky, lost in your respective thoughts.

Frodo wakes up two days later. You're sure to be there to greet him. The scene is one of pure joy as each of the members of the Fellowship enter to pay their respects. You're content with watching it all from the corner, but that does not bring you less happiness than pouncing on poor Frodo like Merry and Pippin do. Sam also hangs back by the door. You move to his side.

"You're a hero, Samwise Gamgee," you murmur to him.

"A hero? No, not me, Miss Aniel. Mr. Frodo was the ringbearer. He's the hero."

"Oh Sam," you sigh affectionately. "Don't forget, my brave hobbit, that I know everything. And that means I know that Frodo would never have made it to Mount Doom without you. You're just as much a hero as he is."

Sam gets flustered at the compliments. "Miss Aniel, you're making me blush! Please don't say such things. It was hard going for us all."

"That's true, but that's why I'm so impressed. I just wanted you to know that I'm proud of you."

Having everyone alive and back together is like a family reunion. You only stop smiling when you sleep. The whole city is abuzz with plans for the coronation, which only adds to the excitement. You wrangle a job helping with decorations and intend to bring the beautification apocalypse. You skip into the throne room to examine your canvas and find Aragorn standing alone, surveying the throne.

"Aragorn?" you call softly.

"Aniel." He half-turns and smiles slightly. "I was just thinking."

"If you're worried you won't be a good king, you couldn't be more wrong."

"It certainly is more responsibility than being a Ranger."

"You won't be alone. You'll have support. But you'll do a legendary job."

"Legendary?" He chuckles and completely turns. "That may be an exaggeration."

"Nope. I don't exaggerate - except on decorations!"

The day finally comes. Visitors from far and wide and all the townspeople flock to the citadel for the ceremony. You and Thorin have the perfect spot to witness the crowning. Before the time comes, you scan the crowd for the epilogues of your friends. You glimpse Arwen behind a banner, as it should be. Faramir and Eowyn stand close together along with Theoden. The hobbits are in a line, all alive and well. And Boromir is to the left of Gandalf, ready to assume his place as steward. It's the perfect conclusion to a long, hard journey.

The crowd quiets when Aragorn emerges in armor and a cape. You smile proudly when he kneels in front of Gandalf. Gandalf is similarly proud as he announces, "Now come the days of the king. May they be blessed."

Now crowned, Aragorn rises to face his people. The cheers are deafening. Aragorn says, "This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world that we may share in the days of peace."

He passes his people, who bow before him. You're glad to do the same, but raise your head slightly to see him discover Arwen. Thorin silently takes your hand when they kiss.

The banquet after the ceremony is merry and well-deserved, but you're more content to watch on the fringe of things. Just this once you have trusted Thorin to handle his own diplomacy; he was invited along with Theoden to sit with Aragorn. You were also invited, but you slipped away after the main course. You notice a small figure also lingering in the shadows and go to sit by him.

"Not in a party mood?" you ask Frodo, gazing over the revelry.

"No, not quite," he responds softly.

"It's okay. I understand why. You've done magnificently, Frodo. You've more than earned a rest."

"You were right."

"About what? I've been right about a lot of things."

"Before we parted, you told me I would succeed. There were times I did not believe it, but your words never fully left my heart. You were right. Thank you."

"You needn't thank me, dear. You had it in you even without me spoiling the ending. I'm so proud of you."

You and Frodo sit together for a long time after that, speaking only occasionally, enjoying the celebration in a different way than everyone else. You figured Frodo would be removed, but you didn't expect to feel the same. Perhaps it's that you can commiserate; both you and Frodo had unique roles to play in the quest that no one else can quite understand.

"How did it go?" Frodo asks suddenly.

"All things considered, it was fantastic. Almost easy. I just wish there was more I could have done to help you."

Frodo smiles. "You did plenty. Faramir was not going to release us, but Boromir came and convinced him to let us go. He also asked my forgiveness. I could not hold it against him - I had long since felt the pull of the ring. But now the ring is gone, and Sauron is gone, forever."

"Forever..." The thought is reassuring. "And what do you plan on doing forever?"

"Nothing," Frodo says pensively. "I'm going to follow Bilbo's lead and return to Bag End to live quietly. I believe I have had enough adventures for one lifetime. What will you do?"

You look up at the table where Thorin sits with the other kings. He's deep in conversation with Aragorn and looking just as majestic as the day you met him. "I have a pretty good idea," you murmur.


	40. Into Eternity

Please see the bottom for the author note~

Disclaimer: Tolkien belongs to Tolkien, and you, my friend, belong to Thorin.

* * *

The time finally comes for the fellowship to part ways one last time. You're very emotional as you bid Aragorn and Boromir farewell. It's only the first in a line of goodbyes that leave you a mess. You and Thorin travel with the fellowship until the hobbits veer off for the Shire. Legolas and Gimli stay with you the longest, but even they eventually depart for Mirkwood, leaving just you and Thorin and a lot of silence.

"I'm sorry you're upset, dearest," Thorin says gently. "They're always welcome to visit."

"I know. I guess I'm being silly. It's just that I've been with them for so long - but I really am glad to go back home. So, so glad."

It's only two more days from Mirkwood until you're on the homeward path. The Mountain rises strongly on the horizon. Filled with a sudden wild joy, you urge your horse into a run and whoop as the wind whips your face. Thorin laughs as he tries to keep pace with you. The two of you thunder over the plains in front of Erebor. From the Mountain you hear deep horns blowing, announcing your return. Dwarves pour out of the front gate to greet you. You're hardly able to act regal with all the ecstacy in your blood - you hug everyone within reach and cheer just as loud.

There's a celebration set for the next night that you are all about. You party so hard that you probably break some sort of record. Thorin is in just as bright a mood. The great hall is superheated from all the dancing and laughing and merriment and love; it's like being on the surface of the sun and you could not be more content.

The joy does not end there. A few short months later, Tauriel has her baby. A short labor produces a beautiful baby girl with a head full of Kili's hair and Tauriel's emerald eyes. Her tiny ears are more rounded than her mother's, but they still end in a distinctive point. They name her Nitha, and she captivates everyone lucky enough to hold her.

It's around her first birthday when anything but bliss enters your mind.

It takes only a simple letter from Frodo to remind you of Lady Galadriel's promise. The only thing you'd asked of her upon leaving Lorien was to let you and Thorin come to the Undying Lands when the last ship leaves. You had of course been victorious, and you know she would never go back on her word. But there was still the matter of bringing it up to Thorin, let alone convincing him.

You make up your mind to drop the bomb one balmy evening when you and he are relaxing alone on the secret porch. After taking a fortifying gulp of wine, you begin hesitantly, "Thorin, there's something I want to talk to you about."

Thorin immediately shifts his attention from the stars to you. "Anything, my love."

"I, um...I need to...I want to tell you about my past."

"Are you sure? I know you do not like to speak of it. You needn't make yourself uncomfortable."

"No, I want to." You take a moment to organize your thoughts. You obviously can't tell him the full truth; you tweak it just enough to be understandable but still true. "I'm from a land far from here. I had a home and parents and friends there, and I was happy. Honestly, I never dreamed I would get to come here. It was, you could say, a surprise. But I guess I was chosen, and I was sent here with the knowledge to try to make things right."

Thorin is listening intently, his brow slightly furrowed.

You can't help a small smile. "I knew of you before I came here, and I loved you then."

"Yes, I remember you told me that once. How is that possible?"

"I knew enough about you to love you. You turned out to be even better than I ever hoped. That you came to love me in return is still the greatest thing that will ever happen to me. I want to be with you forever. But the thing is...only I have a forever in my future."

Thorin's expression clouds. "I was hoping we would not have to think of that for a while," he murmurs.

"Well, the thing about war is that it makes you confront mortality a bit more harshly than you'd like. So I made arrangements a while ago to possibly prevent that final separation."

"To prevent death? Aniel, you have worked many miracles, but even you cannot grant immortality."

"Alone, no." You hesitate again. "I want you to keep an open mind and hear me out."

"I am listening."

"Before we left Lorien, Lady Galadriel presented each of us with a gift. She did not know what to give me, so she asked what I wanted. I told her that I wanted a place on the last ship out of Middle Earth to the Undying Lands...so you and I would never have to be parted. She gave me her word."

Thorin's eyes are wide as he stares at you. You hold his gaze uncertainly. He finally whispers, "You...want to leave? Leave all of our family and friends, our home, forever?"

"No. I don't want to leave them. I'll miss them every day. But I'm selfish: I want you more. Still, I told Galadriel that if you would not come, neither would I. I don't ever want to be without you, but I would rather spend every one of your days together than live forever alone."

"I have heard that Elves are immortal, save for lethal wounds and the agony of heartbreak," he says very quietly.

You nod.

"This is...a heavy matter. Do I have time to consider it?"

"Of course! The ship does not leave for years. I just wanted to tell you so you'd have enough time to think it through fully. And Thorin, I want you to make your decision based on what you truly want. I'll stay with you always, no matter what you choose."

He kisses you gently. "Thank you, love. I will give it all necessary consideration."

You bite your lip. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad? Why would I be? You have only spoken out of the truest love, a love that I share for you. Put it out of your mind. It's a beautiful night, and you look ravishing."

You squint at him. "Are you trying to flirt me happier?"

"Is it working?"

"Yeah, weirdly enough, it is."

The months turn into years, and you forget the conversation in the flow of ups and downs of life. Nitha grows into a bright, eager child. Fili marries. Aragorn and Arwen have their son. Many beautiful things happen, and all of them in an age of peace. It's rather shattering, then, when a letter in impeccable script arrives for you.

_Dear Lady Aniel,_

_The time has come for me to fulfill my promise to you. We will be at the Grey Havens in one month's time. If you and Thorin __will be accompanying us, please meet us there. If you have chosen not to come, I wish you happiness and peace for the rest of __your days._

_Galadriel_

Anxiety fills your chest. Only a month? Had Thorin even made a decision, or had he pushed it out of his mind? What would he say if you bring it up? You don't exactly have time to put it off, so you unwillingly seek him. He's coming up from the kitchen and seems to be in a particularly good mood. He greets you with a kiss. You hate to rain on his parade, but you pull him into a side room.

"What is it?" he asks, realizing your expression.

You simply hand him the letter. He grows more serious with each word. Finally he sighs and looks up at you.

"I don't know if you've thought about it at all," you begin hesitantly.

"I have. I've had plenty of time to think, after all."

"And?"

"It was a difficult decision, I'll admit. But in the end I realized that your love changed me to the soul. I never want to be parted from you for any reason, especially death. I told them long ago that there would come a day when we would have to leave. I suppose that day has come."

"You mean - you want to go?"

"Yes. I will follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond."

"Are you sure? You must be absolutely sure, Thorin - if we go, we cannot come back."

Thorin takes you in his arms. "I made my decision long ago, perhaps even longer than I thought. But my decision is final."

You can only rest your head on his shoulder. You're stunned that he would choose to leave everything - friends, family, home, the only land he ever knew - to be with you forever. Your heart thuds in your chest. You've never been this full of love for Thorin. It won't be easy to leave, you know that, but in the end you'll be together.

The parting is quiet and terribly emotional. It's almost painful enough to beg Thorin to stay. You want to stay and watch Nitha grow up, to see Fili's children, to grow old with all of your friends. But the price of that would mean one day losing Thorin forever, then wasting away until you die as well. So you sob your heart out but do not change plans.

The journey to the Grey Havens is uneventful and quiet. Due to the lack of conversation, you wonder if Thorin resents you for making him choose between you and his entire life. You voice this to him one evening. He spends the rest of the night thoroughly _reassuring_ you that that's not the case at all. You arrive at Bag End to spend the last few weeks with Frodo and Bilbo, who had returned to the Shire several years ago. You complete the last leg of the trip with them.

"There's no going back," you murmur to Thorin as the two of you stand on the dock, staring out over the sunset-kissed ocean. "Once we board, that's it. You can still change your mind."

Thorin looks at you with that half-smile you've seen a thousand times before but are still dazzled by. "There is no choice, Aniel. Not for me."

"Alright."

You slowly walk onto the boat. Thorin follows you with utter surety and takes your hands. He kisses you and then whispers in your ear, "Be it in Middle Earth or some distant land, in this life or the next, I will always love you, Aniel."

You look into his eyes and think back so many years ago to the night your entire life was once nothing more than a dream, where you could only wish to be where you are now. The sun slips lower as the boat glides soundlessly across the water, taking with it the rainbow of colors and leaving an inky expanse in its wake. You can just make out the pale twinkling of stars preparing for another night. They're the ones truly responsible for you being able to stand in front of the man you love, and you know in your overflowing heart that you will be grateful to them for as long as you'll love Thorin, which coincidentally is forever.

* * *

I cannot believe that this three-month spectacle is over. Forty chapters, almost 100k words, and more joy than I've ever experienced writing something. It has been an absolute honor to go on this journey with you all. Thank each and every one of you for all the support you've given me.

I'm totally going to take this time to say that we have not seen the last of this beautiful couple! One wonderful follower requested a spinoff that takes place during the 60 post-hobbit pre-lotr years. It'll be a series of somewhat connected glimpses into your and Thorin's life. Also be on the lookout for my Pirates of the Caribbean reader insert saga, The Will of Tides. I hope to see all of you again for more adventures! 3


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